Skip to main content

Full text of "Startling Stories v15n03 (1947 07)"

See other formats 


issti SI( 






l» 


T * \ 




TJHi 




Jl 




J ia|||| 







EUTERTilim;! 




Thot's t-e -c'- 
Americo's favor ♦e c c*-*e 
pac*ea - '* 



es! 



GET YOUR COPY TODAY! 

-ONLY 10< AT ALL NIWSSTANDSI 



NOW ON SALE 




Retraetable^^^ 
Point at a 
Flick of the Button 



Built-In 
PASS CASE 
with 

Celluloid Leaves 



Deluxe 

Value 



Toe Get Both -uuii. 
Til's Easy Writing PEN 

AND 

This Pass Case 
BILLFOLD 



Your Permanent 
Engraved 
Identification 
Plate 



This Smart-Looking 
Biilfoid Is Genuine 
LEATHER Inside ond Out 



You Also Receive This Three Color Social Security Plate 

ENGRAVED With YOUR HAME, ADDRESS and SOCIAL SECURITY HUMBER 



You SEND NO MONEY To Receive 
This Marvelous TRIPLE VALUE! 

• Here without a doubt is the greatest merchandise 
b-argain you’ll be likely to see for years to come. 
Only our tremendous purchasing power and large 
•ixlume “direct-to-you” method of distribution 
makes such a value possible. Shop around and see 
:;-r ycurself. Where else today can you get both 
am aZ-metal Ball Point Pen with a retractable point 
a genuine leather Billfold v.'ith built-in pasS 
raac and your engraved Three Color Social Security 
— id for only $1.98. This type of Pen alone has 
■;c=o sedong for more than we ask for the Pen AND 
H_l;dd cn this offer. 

« "Sdsen y:u see this Pen and Billfold and examine 
-mesr m a ny cntstarding features, you’ll agree that 
■S'" em grrmg you a value you won’t be able, to 
m:-: — osrin for a long time. Don’t delay taking ad- 
rf odo5 o.g money-saving offer. These pens 
line a-j sore to sell out fast so it will be 

m-s: o-snc_ rrso sem.ed. There’s no risk. Your satis- 
oae-nm. a ;uc.uTily guaranteed. 



Sensational 

FeaturesI 



THE PEN 

Push button ... it writes! 
Click button ... it retracts! 
Safe! Can’t leak! 
Guaranteed to write up to 
2 years without refilling. 
Dries as it writes. No 
smearing, no scratching. 6 
to 8 clear carbons. 



THE BIUrOLD 

4 pocket built-in Pass Case, 
also celluloid window in 
front for Social Security 
Plate. 

Spacious currency compart- 
ment in back opens all the 
way. 

Button snap fastener. Easy 
to open and close. Holds 
securely. 



NO MONEY! NO DEPOSIT! Jusf Mail This Coupon! 

; ILLINOIS MERCHANDISE MART, Dept. 2600 
i 1227 Loyola Ave., Cfiicago 26, ill. 

' Please rush me the Retractable Ball Point Pen and Pass Case 

Billfold wjth engraved 3-Color Social Security Plate. On an'ival I will 
pay postman only SI.OS plus Federal Tax and a few cents postage 
and C.O.D. charges. If I am not positively thrilled and delighted in 
every way I can return within 10 days for full refund. 

MY PULL NAME. . 



(PLEASE PRINT CLEARLY) 



ADDRESS 



CITY STATE 

□ To save shipping 
chaiges I am en- 
closing in advance 
ifl.98 plus 20c Federal 
Excise Tax (total S2.18- 
prepaid. 



• Social Security no 

('lease ship my order all postage charges 




Vol. 15, No. 3 A THRILLING PUBLICATION July, 1947 



Amazing Complete Norel 

The Kingdom of the Blind 

Ey GEOEGE O. SI^ITH 

Psychologists said that James Forrest Carroll 
had lost his mind — but they were forced 
to admit that he alone could save the 
Solar System from fearsome outer menace! 1 1 

Short Stories 

THE RING BONANZA 0«o Binder 57 

Prospectors may some day comb relics from Saturn’s rings 

THE LIFE DETOUR David H. Keller 64 

A Hall of Fame classic reprinted by popular demand 

DREAM’S END Henry Kuttner 80 

Dr. Robert Bruno risks his life to cure a patient’s psychosis 

PROXY PLANETEERS Edmond Hamilton 88 

A pair of scientists fall under a radio-active hypnotic spell 

SUPER WHOST Margaret St. Clair 97 

If you ever want a free trip to Mars, here’s what to do! 




Special Features 

THE ETHER VIBRATES The Editor 6 

A department for readers, including announcements and letters 

OPERATION ASDEVLANT Lt. Comdr. Warren Guthrie, USNR 71 

In a future war, our greatest menace may be undersea raiders 

SCIENCE FICTION FAN PUBLICATIONS A Review 109 

Cover Painting by Earle Bergey — Illustrating “The Kingdom of the Blind” 



STAKTLING STOKIES, published every other month by Better Publications, Inc., N. L. Pines, President, at 4600 Dirersey 
Ave., Chicago 39. 111. Editorial and executive offices, 10 East 40th St., New York 16, N. Y. Entered as second class matter 
November 22, 1946, at the post office at Chicago, Illinois, under the act of March 3, 1879. Copyright. 1947, by Better PuKi- 
cations, Inc. Subscription (12 issues), $1.80; single copies, $.15; foreign and Canadian postage extra. In corresponding w:t a 
this magazine please include your postal zone number, if any. Manuscripts will not be reiuined unless accompanied by 
addressed stamped envelope and are submitted at the author's risk. Names of all characters used in stories and 
articles are fictitious. If the name of a living person or existing institution is used, it is a coincidence. 

Companion magazines: Tnrilling Wonder Stories, Popular Western, Thrilling Mystery Novel, Thrilling Western. Thriltirf 
Thrilling Oeteotive, Rodeo Romances, The Phantom Detective, Sky Fighters, Popular Detective. Thrilling Ranch Storm. 
Thrilling Sports, Popular Sports Magazine, Range Riders Western,' Texas Rangers, Everyday Astrology. G-tten Detective, 
Detective Novel Magazine, Black Book Detective, Popular Love, Masked Rider Western, Rio Kid W estern . Exciting Western, 
West, Triple Detective, Triple Western, and Exciting Love. PBINTED IN THE U. S. A. 




Can you expect to advance in any trade, business, or profession 
without a high school education — or its equivalent? 

Not to the full extent of your abilities. Progress beyond a 
certain point is impossible when fundamental training is inadequate. 
And lack of such education is becoming an even larger handicap 
as we move into a more complex world. 

^Vhatever your age, however y^ou re situated, it isn t necessary 
to struggle under that handicap. By enrolling with the famous 
International Correspondence Schools, you can start your own high 
school in your own home. 

I.C. S. High School Courses feature individual instruction.; 
You’re in a class by yourself— study in your spare time— acquire a 
high school education at astonishingly low cost. Texts are authori-1 
tative . . . progress is rapid . . . advantages are proved by thousands 
of successful graduates. Mail this coupon as they did! 



INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS 




BOX 3967.J, SCRANTON 9, PENNA, 

Without cost or obligation, please send me full particulars about the course before which 

rtuinu cr^unrM n nAprt.TAV.Att An n fitAWn O K m .. 



□ HIGH SCHOOL 
Business and 
Academic Courses 

D Accounting □ Advertieing 

n Arithmetic □ Bookkeeping 

□ Business Correspondence 

□ Businees Management 

D Certified Public Accounting 

□ Commercial 

C Cost Accounting 
C Federal Tax 
C First Year College 
D Foremansbip □ French 
D Good English 
D Higher Mathematics 
O Illustrating D Motor Traffic 
D Postal Service 
O Salesmanship □ Secretarial 

□ Sign Lettering 

□ Spanish □ Stenography 
O Traffic Management 

Air Conditioning and 
Plumbing Courses 

□ Air Conditioning 

□ Heating D Plumbing 

— 



Citify 



O Refrigeration □ Steam Fitting □ Radio Operating 
Chemistry Courses □ Radio Servicing 

□ Chemical Engineering D Telegraph Engineering 

□ Chemistry, Analytical _ Eloctneal Courses 

□ Chemistry. Industrial D Electrical Drafting 

□ Chemistry. Mfg. Iron & Steel ^ Electrical Engineering 

O Petroleum Refining □ Plastics S Power 

O Pulp and Paper Making ^ ^ 

Civil Engineering. Architec- 
tural and Mining Courses., 

□ Architectural Drafting 

□ Architecture 

□ Building Estimating 



□ Lighting Technician 

□ Practical Electrician 

□ Power House Electric 
O Ship Electrician 

Internal Combustion 
Engines Courses 



O Civil Engineering □ Coal Mining ^ Technician □ Aviation 
— - -• . - - □Diesel-Electric 

□ Diesel Engines 



D Contracting and Building 

□ Highway Engineering 

□ Lumber Dealer 

D Reading Structural Blueprints 

□ Sanitary Engineering 

□ Structural Drafting 

□ Structural Engineering 

□ Surveying and Mapping 
Communications Courses 

□ Electronics 

O Practical Telephony 

□ Radio, Generid 



-Age..^ 



D Gas Engines 
Mechanical Courses 

□ Aeronautical Engineering 

□ Aircraft Drafting 

□ Flight Engineer 

□ Forging □ Foundry Work 

O Heat Treatment of Metals 

D Industrial Engineering 

□ Industrial Metallurgy 

□ Machine Shop 

□ Machine Shop. Inspection 

Home 

Addrftaa.. _ 



I have marked X: 

□ Mechanical Drafting 

D Mechanical Engineering 

□ Mold-Loft Work 

□ Pattemmaking — Wood, Metal 

□ Reading Shop Blueprints 
O Sheet-Metal Drafting 

O Sheet-Metal Worker 

□ Ship Drafting □ Ship Fitting 

□ Tool Designing □ 'Toolmaking 

□ Welding — Gas and Electric 
Railroad Courses 

□ Air Brake O Car Inspector 

□ Diesel Locomotive 

□ Locomotive Engineer 

□ Locomotive Fireman 

□ Railroad Section Foreman 
Steam Engineering CeursM 

O Boiiermaking 

□ Combustion Engineering 

□ Engine Running 

□ Marine Engineering 

□ Steam Electric □ Steam Enipnea 
Textile Courses 

O Cotton Manufacturing 
O Rayon Weav’g □ Textile Dosig'ui 

□ Woolen Manufacturing 



-Present Position^ 



Wor'king Hours— 



-P.M. 



Lengfh of Service h World War tl~ 



Special tuition rates to members of the Armed Forces. Enrollment under the G.I. BUI of Rights approved for Wor II Veterans. 
Canadian residents send coupon to Intcrmiional Correspondence Schools Canadian, Ltd., Montreal, Canada. 




W ITH summer already upon us 
Labor Day is not far off — and 
Labor Day weekend, this year 
of grace 1947, is the date set for the Fifth 
World Science Fiction Convention in Phila- 
delphia — an event more generally known as 
the Philcon. 

While the City of Brotherly Love (to put 
it into English) is generally regarded as a 
staid and sober metropolis, second only to 
Boston in this regard among this country’s 
major population centers, it is also a hotbed 
of organized science fiction fan activities. In 
this respect it runs a very close second to 
the Los Angeles district and is willing to 
argue the point at the drop of an Angeline. 

As a matter of little-known fact the first 
recognized science fiction convention of any 
import was held in Philadelphia in 1936 and 
was the occasion of considerable rioting in 
the streets (metaphorically speaking, of 
course). So, after eleven years, Philadelphia 
is stepping out with the Fifth World Science 
Fiction Convention come this Labor Day 
weekend. 

The first of these big rallies was held in 
New York City on the 2-3-4 of July, 1939, 
and drew an enthusiastic attendance of 
several hundred stf devotees. A year and 
two months later the second World Con- 
vention took place in Chicago. And the 
Fourth of July, 1941, found Denver the scene 
of the third big meeting. 

The Pacificon 

Pearl Harbor and the resulting war and 
transportation difficulties put an end to such 
national gatherings until last summer, when 
Los -Angeles blossomed out with the Pacifi- 
con. Inevitably, what with the growth of 
interest in science fiction and with every- 
thing that happens in Southern California, it 
was the biggest to date. 

And now the Philadelphia Science Fiction 
Society is sponsoring the second postwar 
meeting. As usual, it is planned to have a 
large and heterogeneous collection of authors, 
and editors, to say nothing of semi-profes- 
sional fans, on hand for the handshaking and 
speechmaking that accompany all such 
fiestas. 



Headquarters for the Philcon will be the 
Perm Sheraton Hotel, formerly the Hotel 
Philadelphia, at 39th and Chestnut Streets. 
The opening session will begin at 1 PM, 
Saturday, August 30th. There will be after- 
noon and evening sessions on Saturday and 
Simday, and afternoon sessions on Monday 
and finally the traditional fanquet or fan 
banquet on Monday evening. 

The Philcon’s Program 

Entertainment, exclusive of the above- 
mentioned fanquet, will include an auction 
of books of stf interest and of original il- 
lustrations from magazines such as this one 
and its companion, THRILLING WONDER 
STORIES. There will be various sorts of 
entertainment, amateur and professional, and 
lots of talk, talk, talk. 

So those of you who have inclination and 
opportunity to attend this convention might 
drop a line to A. E. Waldo, 4048 Lancaster 
Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Mr. 
Waldo is in charge of the more or less vital 
matter of hotel and room reservations for 
the gathering and can give full details of 
what to expect. 

If you have the time and can get there and 
like science fiction, you will inevitably find 
the Philcon worth your while. Selah! 

Alien Life 

In the March issue of this magazine we 
wrote a short editorial on the possibility of 
alien life on various other planets whose 
discovery may be made possible within 
measurable time by current scientific de- 
velopments. 

For some reason, this evoked a number 
of letters concerning the statement (not 
made by us) that because Jupiter apparent- 
ly has an atmosphere of spirits of ammonia 
somebody said there could be no life there. 
V7ithout exception the missivists took issue 
with this statement and insisted that merely 
because a form of life breathes spirits of 
ammonia doesn’t mean it is not a form of 
life. 

What all of this proves we do not pretend 
(Continued on page 8) 






I. LEARNED QUICKLY AT HONE I 

“I didn't dream I could actually 
learn to play without a teacher. 
Now, when I play for people they 
hardly believe that I 
learned to play so well 
in so short a time.** 

*H. C. S„ Coltf* 



THEY FOUND 
COULD PLAY 

This easy as A.B.C. way! 

PLAYS GN RADIO 

**A9 ft proud student 1 can't keep from telling 
you that as a result of my course I have a 
good position playing from KTHS, Hot Springs, 
Ark., every morning.’* 



INVESTMENT PAID BACK 
A THOUSAND FOLD 

•‘Anvone with musical ability 
Should make good with your 
course. My little investment paid 
back a thousand fold. I have been 
playing for 4 years now. Today 1 
play in one of our top bands.” 

San Juan, P.B* 



PLAYS AT DANCES 

•*1 have completed 
your course and 
your lessons have 
been most satis- 
factory. I can play 
all of the popular 
songs. I have also 
earned money 
playing at 
dances.” 

•E. N. J., 
New York, 



INVITED TO PARTIES 

*'I enjoyed taking this course and 
1 get a lot of pleasure out of it. 
1 have made much progress and 
have many invitations to play at 
parties, 1 owe you much for mak- 
ing this possible.’* 



Thousands Have Learned to 

W HAT instrument would you like to play? We*U show you 
how you can learn to play it — quickly, easily, in spare 
time at home for only a FEW C?ENTS A DAY! Never mindl 
if you don't know one note of music from another — don’t worry 
about our "special talent." 

The truth of the matter is that thousands now play who never 
thought they could! Yes, mai and women everywhere are enjoj'ing 
the thrilling satisfaction of playing the piano, violin, guitar, saxo- 
phone or other favorite instrument. Some of them are playing in 
orchestras and over the radio; others are teaching music, making 



Play Quickly; Easily At Home 

money in spare or full time. And thousands are playing fop their 
own enjoyment and the entertainment of their friends. 

It all came about when they wrote to the IT. S. School of Musio 
for the Free Booklet that shows you how EASY it is to learn musifl 
at home this modern way. No tedious scales, no tiresome exercises. 
You learn to play by playing — start right in almost at onco with 
the melody of a'' simple tune! It takes only a few minutes a day 
and the cost Is trifling; you save the expense of a private teacher. 
Does it sound too good to be true? Mail the coupon and get the 
FREE PROOF! (Our forty-ninth year — Est. 189S.) TJ, S. School of 
Music, 2947 Brunswlt* Kdg., New TorS 10, N. I. 



NOTICE 

• 

Please don’t confuse 
our method with any 
systems claiming to 
teach "without music" 
or "by ear". We teach 
you easily and quickly 
to play real music, any 
music, by standard 
notes . . . not by any 
trick or number system. 



SEND TODAY 
FOR COMPLETE DETAILS 

• You'll open your eyes when you 
find how quickly and easily you can 
learn to play your favorite instru- 
ment. Don’t doubt ; don’t hesitate. 
Send for the fascinating illustrated 
booklet that answers all your ques- 
tions ; let the free Print and Picture 
Sample show you how this method 
actually works. If interested, mail the 
coupon NOW. 

^Actual pupils’ names on request. Pic- 
tures by professional models. 



Pri n t^nhdy f’icfu fe 



U. S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC 

2947 Brunswick Bldg., New York 10, N. Y. 

1 am interested in music study, particularly in tTie 
instrument checked beJow. Please send me your free 
iilusti'ated booklet, “How to Learn Music at Borne.” 



Piano 

Guitar 

Hawaiian Guitar 
Violin 

Piano Accordion 



Saxophone 
Trumpet, Cornet 
Reed Organ 
Tenor Banjo 
Mandolin 



Wlodern Elementary 
Harmony 
Clarinet 
Practical Finger 
Control 

Other Instrument 



Have you Instrument?. 



(Please Print) 



Name ..... 

Address , . . 

City State 

NOTE: Ifyou are under A6 years parcr.t m.jsts;gn coupon, 
Save 2c — Stick coupon .on penny postcard. 





I. M. Frank & Co., Inc., N. Y. 22 
Only Ihoie palented^filters have the 66 baffles that 
_ whirl the smoke cleaner and toeler into year mouth. 

STUDY AT HOME for PEKSONAL SUCCESS 
and LARGER EARNINGS. 38 yeara eocpert in- 
struction-over 108,000 students enrolled. LL.B. 
Degree awarded. All texts fumislied. Easy pay- 
ments. Send for FREE BOOK. 

AMERICAN EXTENSION SCHOOL OF LAW 
Dept. 78- Ti 646 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago i I, III, 



|AW 



There are some things chat 
cannot be generally told... 
things you ought to know,,, 
ama2ing discoveries of the 
hidden processes of man's 
snind and the mastery of 
life's problems. Write to* 
day to: Scribe Y.R.A. 

ROSICRU C I AN S 
(A^fORc) San Jose • California , 



THE ETHEH ViERATES 

(Continued from ■page 6) 

to understand — ^but it may give some of you 
an idea of the sort of thing that crosses our 
desk from time to time. If any of you can 
make sense out of it, please let us know. We 
once knew a young lady who could breathe 
little save ammonia, but it turned out that 
her corsetiere was to blame. 



OUR NEXT ISSUE 

SEPTEMBER, with its autumn equinox, is 
generally accepted as a month of sudden 
showers. So it is altogether fitting that Keith 
Hammond should come up with a novel of 
man-made rain as an instrument of revolu- 
tion against a too-perfect future state. 

His entire life patterned by a madman 
named La Boucherie, Mart Havers is the 
human instrument of revolt against a techno- 
cratic society. He is, despite his careful 
training, a reluctant revolutionist. 

But La Boucherie has laid his patterns too 
deeply and cunningly to be denied. And so, 
in spite of himself. Havers is forced to open 
conflict with the society that has no place 
for him. 

Readers of other Keith Hammond stories 
in STARTLING, notably VALLEY OF THE 
FLAME, will look forward eagerly to the 
newest full-length novel to stem from his 
gifted typewriter. So man weather stations 
and keep a watchful eye out for LORD OF 
THE STORM. It is a big-time story for what 
should be one of the finest issues in SS 
history. 

More good news for science fiction lovers 
has turned up in the Hall of Fame — where, 
next month, we reprint for the first time a 
truly great story by one of the most justly 
celebrated of stf authors, the late Stanley G. 
Weinbaum. THE CIRCLE OF ZERO is one 
of his best and one which will leave the 
reader with the satisfaction of having been 
stimulated by ideas which will be long in 
leaving him. 

Also present, of course, will be a full 
complement of short stories and ye ed with 
this department and the Fanzine Review. 
Try and make it! 




^AVE for the baffling comment anent the 
ammoniac atmosphere of Jupiter already 
mentioned, it seems to us that the current 
crop of letters is unusually mild in regard to 
controversial material — and if anyone can 
figure a controversy out of that, by all means 
let him. 



However, the missivists are out in force 
and brickbats are about as usual. So we don 
gas mask and steel helmet and get at them. 

HE WANTS SPACE SHIPS 

by Millard Crimes 

Dear Editor: That’s a pretty fair frontispiece you 
have on the March issue. Now, Bergey, don’t get 
mad, Belarski just had a better scene to illustrate. 
By the way, Sarge, since you keep harping on the 
fact that your usual type of covers sell mags, I guess 
the Summer 1945 ish (the one with the beautiful 
rocket ship on the front) should have been the lowest 
selling ish of SS that you have ever put out. 

Speaking of circulation (we were, I think) I some- 
times wonder what makes a guy or gal buy two 
issues of SS in a row after he or she has read the 
novel in the first unless he or she is likb me. I buy 
every copy that comes out just for collection and 
because I know that once in a while you print some- 
thing worth reading. 

But what about the occasional buyer who is just 
looking for something to read for enjoyment and 
picks up one issue of SS and buys and reads it. If he 
liked it he will probably look for more issues of the 
mag in the coming months. But what if he picks up 
an issue and has to read some novel like “Other Eyes 
Watching” or “The Solar Invasion” or most any of 
the other long works you’ve been publishing since 
the close of 1943. 

Since 1943, to me. there have been only three novels 
that were really good and that I would be willing to 
give the amount of time and patience that goes into 
reading a work of that length. The three were 
“Shadow Over Mars,” “Red Sun of Danger” and 
‘“rhe Dark World”, and one of them is a fantasy, 
something I heartily disapprove of in a mag of sf as 
yours is supposed to be. I have not yet read the two 
issues of SS that have been published this year and for 
all I know, “Star of Life” and “Laws of Chance” may 
be excellent pieces. — 2307 20th Street, Colurabus, 
Georgia. 

Well, as long as you buy them for some 
pui’pose, Brother Grimes, we thank you. But 
you had better catch up on your reading 
before landing on us so hard. The general 
level of wartime stories, long and short, ran 
well below that of pre-war years and below 
that of the work we have been receiving 
since V-J Day. 

As for space ships, they simply haven’t 
got human interest and this is not a maga- 
zine of popular applied science, although one 
group of our readers would seem to want it 
so. There are plenty of excellent magazines 
long and well established in this field for 
such as likes them. 

SHE GETS A KICK OUT OF GWEN 

by Patti J. Bowling 

Dear Editor: Liked the March issue of SS, however, 
there were a couple or three things that could have 
been better. THE LAWS OF CHANCE by T.r-insler 
was a most interesting and well-written story. Believe 
it or not I haven’t one single gripe about the whole 
story and as for Finlay’s illustrations, swell. The H of 
F Novelet I didn’t like so well. The style of writing 
was rather stilted and on the whole, too noble for 
words. 

THE SOMA RACKS by St. Clair was a nice little 
story but I still can’t see much point to it. Could it 
have been too subtle, do you think? STELLAR SNOW- 
BALL by Barrett was another nice little story, not 
much to it, but well written. On the whole THE LAWS 
OF CHANCE takes first place. 

The Ether Vibrates was up to par. Do like your 

(Continued on page 102) 




Become an 



Expert Accountant 

The Profession That Pays 
The demand for skilled accountants — men who 
really know their business — is increasing* 
National and state legislation is requiring of 
business — ^both big and small — much more in matters 
relating to Auditing, Cost Accounting, Business Law* 
Organization, Management, Finance. Men who prove 
their qualifications in. this important field are pro* 
TOoted to responsible executive positions — given an 
opportunity to earn real salaries. The range is from 
$3,000 to $10, 00()ayear,eveii to higher income figures. 

Send for Free Book— 

t' Accountancy i the Profession That Pays’* 
Why let the other fellow walk away with the better 
job, when right in your own home you may equip 
yourself for a splentfid future in this profitable, grow- 
ing profession? 

Knowledge of bookkeeping unnecessary. Our free 
book on accountancy fully explains how we train you 
from ground up, or according to your individual needs. 
Low cost; easy terms. 

The facts about the new LaSalle training in Ac- 
comitancy and the opportunities in this highly prof- 
itable field are clearly outlined in a 48-page book 
which LaSalle will send you free. 

The man in earnest to get ahead will find this 
coupon a 'most profitable aid to progress. If you 
have the urge and the will to increase your income, 
clip and mail the coupon NOW. 

G. I. APPROVED 



LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY 

A CORRESPONDENCE INSTITUTION 

&epU329-HR,417$o. Deaili(irnSt.,Chicag(i5 i 
I would welcome details of oppor- 
tunities in accounting, together 
with copy of "Accountancy, the 
Profession That Pays,” without 
obligation. 

□Higher Accountancy 

Other LaSalle Opportunitiess 

LaSalle opens the way to success in ^ 

every important field of business. II Inter- 
^tedinoneofthefieldsbelow, clieckandmail. 

□Business Management QLaw — Degree of LLtB* 




□Modem Salesmanship 
□Traffic Management 
pForemanship 
□Industrial Management 

OStenotypy (Machine 
Shorthand) 



□Commercial Law 
□Modem Business 
Correspondence 
□Expert Bookkeeping 
□G.P. A. Coaching 



Name. 



Resent Position. 



» 



Address, 




KingalMs caught CarroM and hurted him away from the panel (CHAPTER Xill) 

The Biingdom of the Elind 

Ey GEORGE O. SMITH 



Psychologists said that James Foriest Caiioll had lost 
his mind — but they were forced to admit that he alone 
could save the Solar System from fearsome outer menace! 



CHAPTER I 
Amnesiac! 

OCTOR POLLARD, psychologist, 
seemed puzzled. 

“This has happened before,” he 

remarked. 

“Too often,” said the director of the labo- 
ratory. 

AN AMAZING 



Doctor Pollard nodded in silent agreement. 
He faced the well-dressed man seated a- 
sprawl in the chair before him and asked, 
“You have never heard of James Forrest 
Carroll?” 

“No,” said the other man. 

“But you are James Forrest Carroll.” 
“No.” 

The laboratory director shrugged. “This 

NOVEL 




COMPLETE 

11 



is no place for me,” he said. “If I can do 
anything — ?” 

“You can do nothing, Majors. As with the 
others this case is almost complete amnesia. 
Memory completely shot. Even the trained-in 
mode of speech is limited to guttural mono- 
syllables and grunts.” 

John Majors shook his head, partly in pity 
and partly in sheer withdrawal at such a 
calamity. 

“He was a brilliant man.” 

“If he follows the usual pattern, he’ll 
never be brilliant again,” Doctor Pollard 
continued. “From I.Q. one hundred and 
eighty down to about seventy. That’s tough 
to take- — for his friends and associates, 
that is. He’ll be alone in the world until we 
can bring his knowledge up to the low I.Q. 
he owns now. He’ll have to make new friends 
for his old ones will find him dull and he’ll 
not understand them. His family — ” 

“No family.” 



“None? A healthy specimen like Carroll at 
thirty-three years? No wife, chick nor child? 
No relations at all.” 

“Uncles and cousins only,” sighed John 
Majors. 

The psychologist shook his head. “Women 
friends?” 

“Several but few close enough.” 

“Could that be it?” mused the psychologist. 
’Then he answered his own question by stat- 
ing that the other cases were not devoid of 
spouse or close relation. 

“I am about to abandon the study of the 
Lawson Radiation,” said Majors seriously. 
“It’s taken four of my top technicians in the 
last five years. This — affliction seems to fol- 
low a set course. It doesn’t happen to people 
who have other jobs that I know of. Only 
those who are near the top in the Lawson 
Laboratory.” 

“It might be sheer frustration,” offered Dr. 
Pollard. “I understand that the Lawson 




12 





Radiation is about as well understood now 
as it was when discovered some thirty years 
ago.” 

“Just about,” smiled Majors wearily. 
“However, you know as well as I that people 
going to work at the Lawson Laboratory are 
thoroughly checked to ascertain and certify 
that frustration will not drive them insane. 

“Research is a study in frustration any- 
way, and most scientists are frustrated by 
the ever-present inability of getting some- 
thing without having to give something else 
up for it.” 

“Perhaps I should check them every six 
months instead of every year,” suggested 
the psychologist. 

“Good idea if it can be done without 
arousing their fears.” 

“I see what you mean.” 

Majors took his hat from the rack and left 
the doctor’s office. Pollard addressed the 
man in the chair again. 

“You are James Forrest Carroll.” 



“No.” 

“I have proof.” 

“No.” 

“Remove your shirt.” 

“No.” 

This was getting nowhere. There had to 
be a question that could not be answered 
with a grunted monosyllable. 

“Will you remove your shirt or shall I 
have it done by force?” 

“Neither!” 

That was better — technically. 

“Why do you deny my right to prove your 
identity?” , 

This drew no answer at all. 

“You deny my right because you know 
that you have your name, blood type, birth- 
date and scientific roster number tattooed on 
your chest below your armpit.” 

“No.” 

“But you have — and I know it because I’ve 
seen it.” 

“No.” 



13 



14 STARTLING STORIES 



“You cannot deny your other identifica- 
tion. The eye-retina pattern, the Bertillion, 
the fingerprints, the scalp-pattern?” 

“No.” 

“I thought not,” said the doctor trium- 
phantly. “Now understand, Carroll. I am 
trying to help you. You are a brilliant 
man — ” 

“No.” This was not modesty cropping up, 
but the same repeating of the basic negative 
reply. 

“You are and have been. You will be 
once again after you stop fighting me and 
try to help. Why do yoil wish to fight me?” 

f tARROLL stirred uneasily in his chair. 

/ “Pain,” he said with a tremble of fear 
in his voice. 

“Where is this pain?” asked the doctor 
gently. 

“All over.” 

The doctor considered that. The same 
pattern again — a psychotic denial of identity 
and a fear of pain at the dimly-grasped con- 
cept of return. Pollard turned to the sheets 
of notes on his desk. James Forrest Carroll 
had been a brilliant theorist and excellent 
from the practical standpoint too. 

Thirty-three years old and in perfect 
health, his enjoyment of life was basically 
sound and he was about as stable as any 
physicist in the long list of scientific and 
technical men known to the Solar System’s 
scientists. 

Yesterday he had been brilliant — working 
on a problem that had stumped the techni- 
cians for thirty years. Today he was not 
quite bright, denying his brilliance with a 
vicious refusal to help. He remembered 
nothing of his work, obviously. 

“You know what the Lawson Radiation 
is?” 

“No.’t came the instant reply but a slight 
twinge of pain-syndrome crossed his face. 

“You do not want to remember because 
you think you will have to go back to the 
Lawson Lab?” , 

“I — don’t know it — ” faltered James For- 
rest Carroll. It was obviously a lie. 

“If I promise that you will never be asked 
about it?” 

“No,” said Carroll uneasily. Then with 
;he first burst of real intelligence he had 
shown since his stumbling body had been 
picked up by the Terran Police, Carroll 
added, “You cannot stop me from thinking 
about it.” 



“Then you do know it?” 

Carroll relapsed instantly. “No,” he said 
sullenly. 

Dr. Pollard nodded. “Tomorrow?” he 
pleaded. 

“Why?” 

Pollard knew that the wish to aid Carroll 
would fall on deaf ears. Carroll did not care 
to be helped. There were other ways. 

“Because I must do my job or I shall be 
released,” said Pollard. “You must permit 
me to try, at least. Will you?” 

“I— yes.” 

“Good. No one will know that I am not 
trying hard. But we’ll make it look good?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you know where your home is?” asked 
Pollard with his mental fingers crossed. 

“No.” 

Pollard sighed. 

“Then you stay here. Miss Farragut will 
show you a quiet room where you can sleep. 
Tomorrow we’ll find your home from the 
files. Then you can go home.” 

Pollard got out of there. He knew that 
Carroll would not leave — could not leave. 
He prescribed a husky sedative to be put in 
Carroll’s last drink of water for the night 
and went home himself, his mind humming 
with speculation. 

T he conference was composed of Pollard, 
Majors, and most of the other key men 
in the Lawson Laboratory. Pollard spoke 
first. 

“James Carroll is a victim of a rather 
deep-seated amnesia,” he said. “Amnesia is, 
of course, a mechanism of the mind set up 
to avoid some bitter reality. In Carroll’s 
case, not only is the amnesia passive — some 
warning agency in Carroll’s amnesiac mind 
warns him that regaining his true identity 
will result in great pain. 

"It is something concerned with his work. 
We’d like to know what about the study of 
the Lawson Radiation could produce such a 
painful reality.” 

“We all get a bit fed up at times,” re- 
marked Tom Jackwell. “It’s heartbreaking to 
sit daily and try things that never do any- 
thing.” 

“We are like an aborigine, born on an 
isolated island three hundred yards in 
diameter who has just discovered that cer- 
tain blackish rocks tend to attract one an- 
other and point north. Amusing for a time, 
but what is it good for and what ungodly 



THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND 15 



mechanism causes it?” said Majors with a 
shrug. 

“Just what is the latest theory on the Law- 
son Radiation?” asked Pollard. 

“You guess,” said John Majors ruefully. 
“We’ve had too many theories already. The 
Lawson Radiation is a strange creation out of 
Bootes by Arcturus, and borne like Zephyr 
on the wind. 

“Certain elemental minerals, when in con- 
tact with other minerals, produce a pulsing 
radiofrequency current which can be detected 
after more amplification than the human 
mind can contemplate sensibly. 

“The frequency output depends upon the 
type of minerals used, and it is completely 
random so far as any consistent pattern goes. 
Some elemental minerals are no good, some 
are excellent.” 

“You’ve made determinant charts?” 

“Naturally. But there’s no determinant. 
After I said elemental minerals, I should 
have said that this was the original premise. 
Now we have a detector working with helium 
gas surrounding a block of lead bromide. 

“Lead and helium are no good, helium and 
bromine equally poor. Lead and bromide 
are no good — as long as it lasts. Now don’t 
ask me if the combination of the elements 
interferes. One good detector operates so 
wonderfully all the time, that a bit of yellow 
phosphorus is forming phosphorus pentoxid 
because it is suspended in an atmosphere of 
pure oxygen.” 

“No apparent determining factors, hey?” . 

“None. You might as well pick out the ele- 
ments with six-letter names. The periodic 
chart looks like the scatter-pattern of an 
open-choke shotgun. Water works fine when 
it is contained in a glass vessel, but in any- 
thing else we know of — no dice.” 

“You seem to have covered a multitude of 
things,” said Dr. Pollard approvingly. 

“We’ve had a corps of brilliant, imagina- 
tive technicians working on the theory and 
practise for thirty years. Every one of them 
has come up with a number of elemental 
detecting combinations. We’re now working 
on four and five element permutations. 

“With and without plain and complex 
electrostatic and magnetic fields — and mix- 
tures of both. We’ve gone logically as far as 
we can under a system that demands that we 
try everything. In each set of permutations, 
we cover all. You know our motto.” 

Majors finished with a slight laugh. He 
pointed to the end of the conference room, 



where, lettered on the wall above the black- 
board was — 

LEAVE NO TORN UNSTONEd! 

“Where does it come from?” asked Pollard 
innocently. 

“Take a fifteen-degree angle from the 
middle of Bootes. Maybe Arcturus for all we 
know. Somewhere within fifteen degrees of 
an arbitrary point up there. A total conic 
solid angle of thirty degrees will encompass 
all but wisps of the stuff that filter through 
once in a year or so.” 

“And the velocity of propagation?” 

“That’s the simplest thing to check. The 
pulses from the Lawson Radiation follow 
random patterns. A segment printed along a 
time- scale can be matched to another seg- 
ment of the same radiation taken from the 
other side of the solar system. 

“It’s never perfect enough to do more than 
approximate the answer, but we’ve got to 
get a lot more dispersion than the breadth 
of the orbit of the planet Pluto before we 
can detect any time-delay — and if we go too 
far the synchronization of our test equip- 
ment gets more and more difficult. You 
guess.” 

Pollard thought for a moment. “I can’t 
hope to know all the angles,” he said. “This 
is sufficient until I have to know more about 
it. Now tell me what might drive a man into 
instability?” 

“You tell us,” laughed Majors shortly. 
His laugh was not genuine for he felt the 
loss of Carroll deeply. 

“Is there any insoluble dilem.ma in this 
at all?” 

“Not that we know of.” 

Pollard nodded. “People are always con- 
fronted with insoluble dilemmas of one sort 
or another, but most of them could be 
avoided entirely by a slight change in 
personal attitude. The man who cannot get 
a job because of inexperience, and can get 
no experience for lack of job is in an insolu- 
able dilemma. 

“But it is usually resolved before the sub- 
ject gets too deeply involved with his whirly. 
Someone always turns up needing some sort 
of help at any cost, and that gives the re- 
quired experience which can be magnified 
by the applicant. 

“Is it safe to assume that all of these four 
people who have turned up with the same 
affliction might have turned up with some 



16 STARTLING STORIES 



terrific answer that drove them into a tizzy?” 
asked Pollard. 

“Who knows?” grumbled Majors irritably. 
“Might be.” 

“What sort of answer would drive a man 
insane?” asked Jackwell. “If a man is seek- 
ing an answer to a specific question, and he 
has no penalty for not answering, what 
then?” 

AJORS wrinkled his forehead. “If the 
answer meant danger — of any sort?” 

“No,” said Pollard positively. “If it were 
social danger he would call for aid and tell 
the authorities. If it were personal danger, 
he’d run, and use his mind to avoid it.” 

“And if it could not be averted?” 

Pollard still shook his head. “Men of Car- 
roll’s stability do not go insane when faced 
with personal danger or even certain death. 
How about his notes?” 

“Nothing in them that seems out of line,” 
said Majors. “Just the same ‘no effect’ or 
‘no improvement’ conclusions.” 

“See here,” said Pollard. “Do you have 
to use these improved detectors on the 
natural radiation?” 

“Of course,” said Majors. “We don’t know 
what the Lawson Radiation is, and therefore 
we have no way of simulating it in our lab. 
What has us stumped is that the detectors 
go on detecting Lawson Effects while they’re 
sitting on a fission-pile with no increase in 
noise-level or signal.” Majors smiled un- 
happily. 

“That is, they do until the nuclear bom- 
bardment transmutes one of the detector- 
elements into another one that is ineffective. 
So far nothing we can pour into any of them 
will result in an indication.” 

Dr. Pollard shook his head. “This has 
been of some help,” he said. “But the big 
job of gaining his confidence and bringing 
him back is still ahead of me. I think this 
will be all for now. May I count on your co- 
operation again?” 

“Any time,” said Majors. “We need Car- 
roll — ^which is quite aside from the fact that 
we all like him and it hurts to see him as he 
is now.” 

The conference broke up, and Dr. Pollard 
left the Lawson Laboratory and headed slow- 
ly toward the hospital where James Carroll 
was still sleeping. 

He was praying for a miracle. A mere 
human, he felt ignorant, helpless, blind 
against the sheer disinterest that emanated 



from Carroll’s blacked-out intelligence. Not 
so much for the problem of the Lawson Ra- 
diation would Pollard like to bring James 
Carroll back to himself as for the benefit of 
the man — and mankind — for Carroll had been 
a definite asset. 

And then Pollard stopped thinking on the 
subject, for he found himself rolling around 
in a tight circle in the problem. Did he want 
Carroll or did he want to find out what Car- 
roll had learned that drove him crazy? 

To bring him back to full usefulness — 
that was admitting that his interest was as 
much for the benefit of science as for the 
man. Science in Carroll’s case meant years 
and years of intense study of that one 
particulsu- field. 

He was rationalizing, he knew, and he 
went further by admitting that bringing 
Carroll back to full intelligence again meant 
that, unless the man regained his ability to 
remember _and work on the Lawson Radia- 
tion, his return was incomplete. Would he 
bring Carroll back — only to have the man 
return to this rare state of amnesia at the 
first touch of something — and who knew 
what? 

Pollard closed his mind and returned to 
the hospital. 

But the days passed with no hope. Carroll 
was forced to admit his identity and that 
was all. His mind meticulously avoided any 
contact with the Lawson Radiation. In fact, 
any minor gains Pollard made were lost 
instantly when any phase of Carroll’s former 
studies was mentioned. 

Eventually James Carroll went home. Pol- 
lard could keep him there no longer. The 
former physicist returned daily, and Pollard 
helped the man to make plans for the future. 
That hurt deeply, for Pollard had to sit there, 
helpless to do anything about the man’s lack 
of intellect. 

Things that a normal man would take for 
granted in his daily life Pollard had to out- 
line in detail as planning. Luckily Carroll 
had financial independence — or unluckily, 
perhaps, for maybe a job of some sort might 
have been good therapy. 

The trouble was that Pollard could not 
make his own mental adjustment to see the 
former, very brilliant James Forrest Carroll 
working for a pittance by digging ditches or 
slogging away his life in a menial job. 

As the days grew into weeks the pattern of 
Carroll’s new life became fixed in the man’s 
mind and he found it unnecessary to return 




THE KINGDOM 

daily to the hospital for advice. 

And Dr. Pollard gave up, himself a fine 
case of frustration. 



CHAPTER II 
Double Trouble 



J AMES FORREST CARROLL was lazi- 
ly happy with himself. His needs were 
quite simple and the apartment he lived in 
was far beyond them. He had a gnawing 
doubt that he could keep it forever, because 
there was something about money that did 
not jibe. 

He could not make enough money to main- 
tain it — and he did not need it anyway. But 
it was very nice and he viewed it as any 
normal man might view living in his own 
ideal home, complete with everything that 
he ever hoped to have. 

He awoke in the morning by physical habit, 
dressed by instinct and his breakfast was 
served by the housekeeper. Then he left the 
place and roamed. He saw the parks and 
enjoyed with primitive pleasure the greenery 
and the natural settings of tree, grass and 
sky. The park squirrels knew no fear of 
him and he found them interesting. Perhaps 
he subconsciously g-nvied their obvious ad- 
justment to their environment. 

He visited an art institute once but never 
returned because it made him uneasy. The 
same was true of the museum of natural 
history, though it was more to his liking 
than the artificial art. 

On the same street was a museum of 
science which, because of a strange arrange- 
ment of windows, portico, and row of 
columns, took on a distorted picture of a 
grinning giant that threatened to swallow 
whoever entered. Carroll, without knowing 
the subconscious connection, feared and 
avoided it even though he had to cross the 
street to pass it. 

They took him from a planetarium once — 
screaming in fear and crying to be set free. 
Claustrophobia, one “expert” said, but he 
didn’t know that Carroll had been mentally 
sitting in deep space with no solidity beneath 
him when he started to scream. 

He — got along. 

There was no apparent advance. His 
actions in life were normal to his pre- 



OF THE BLIND 17 

amnesiac self on minor items. He preferred 
the better restaurants, took an instinctive 
hking to the same good clothing that he had 
lived with before. In all outward respects 
James Forrest Carroll was a well-to-do man 
without the mental right to carry that posi- 
tion. 

Occasionally it bothered him that some- 
thing was wrong but he avoided the reason 
for it. 

Why am I? he asked himself again and 
again. What has happened? His evenings 
were spent in roaming, just walking the 
quiet streets and trying to think of why he 
was puzzled. On these walks he noticed little 
of his fellow men and their actions. If they 
wanted to be as they were, James Carroll 
was not to bother them. 

He often pondered the question of how he 
would react if one of them called upon him 
or spoke to him. Then, he thought, he would 
act. But he was not to criticize nor object 
to tire way in which his fellow man con- 
ducted himself so long as it did not bother 
James Forrest Carroll. 

This wonder of what he would do took 
ups and downs. There were times when he 
wished someone would act toward him so 
that he could find out about himself. At 
other times he did not care. At still other 
times he knew that how he would act 
depended entirely upon the circumstances. 
In the final analysis, however, Carroll’s first 
act toward anyone came from sheer instinct 
rather than from any plan. 

A girl emerged from a building carrying a 
file-box of papers. It was dusk and she was 
hurrying along the street before him by 
fifty feet. It was obvious that her last job 
for the day was the delivery of this box of 
papers to some other building and, once it 
was delivered, she was finished. That Car- 
roll understood. 

She stopped for traffic at the end of the 
block and as she stood there, a large car 
drove up to the curb and stopped beside her. 
Idly she turned and walked to the car slow- 
ly, opened the door and started to enter. 

That struck a hidden chord in Carroll’s 
mind. 

“Hey!” he exploded, running forward to 
the car. His voice startled her and she part- 
ly turned. A hand emerged from within the 
car and grabbed the box of papers. Carroll 
arrived at that instant and grabbed for the 
other end. There was a quick struggle and 
the box opened and a hundred sheets o£ 



18 STARTLING STORIES 

notes were strewn on the sidewalk. Her name was Sally. And Carroll won- 



T HE girl stooped and scooped the papers 
up roughly, shoving them back in the 
box helter-skelter and clapping the top back 
on. Carroll did not see this, for the occupant 
of the back seat was coming out angrily at 
this instant. 

Carroll reached forward and clipped the 
stranger on the nose, driving him back into 
the car. The driver’s companion snapped his 
door open, grabbed the box, hurled the girl 
asprawl on the floor of the back seat. The 
car leaped away, leaving Carroll standing 
there in wonder. 

That girl — he should know her. Those 
papers were important to someone. He 
stooped and picked one last one up and stared 
at it. It made no sense. 

He took it home. It pained him to read it 
but someone was in bad trouble because of 
it, and Carroll did not like the idea of a 
woman being in trouble over a sheet of paper 
— or a hundred sheets of paper. It made no 
sense, and he gave up, tired. 

But he returned to the same corner at 
dusk the following evening. And the same 
girl emerged from the same building with 
the same box and hurried along the same 
walk. The same car came up and she entered 
it this time, and it drove slowly off in the 
direction she wanted to go. 

Carroll’s instinctive shout died in his 
throat. The car turned off about one square 
further and disappeared. Carroll stood idly 
on the corner, wondering what to do next. 
For fifteen minutes he stood there, thinking. 
Then the car returned, turned the corner, 
and stopped. The girl emerged and walked 
up the street for a thousand yards and turned 
into a building with her box of papers. 

Carroll waited in front of the building for 
her. As she came out she saw him and her 
face lighted up with mingled pleasure and 
puzzlement. 

“Hello, Mr. Carroll,” she said brightly. 
“Are you all right?” he asked her. 
“Fine,” she said. “And you?” 

“I was concerned about you last night,” 
he told her. “What happened?” 

“Why — -nothing happened to me.” Her 
ayes widened in wonder and in them he saw 
some unknown uneasiness. He smiled at her 
paternally. 

“Do this every night?” he asked. 

“Uh-huh. 'You know that I have for 
years.” 



dered how he should come to know her 
name. But — she knew his. Or at least she 
knew what everybody claimed was his name, 
and what was tattooed on his body. 

He wondered again, and in wondering, let 
the opportunity for further conversation 
pass. The girl was impatient and said, “You 
must come back to us someday.” 

“That I will,” he said — but it was to her 
retreating back. Sally was hurrying up the 
street again. 

Strange, he thought. Does she ride in that 
car every night? And if he — or they — were 
friends, why was there a bit of fight last 
evening? Why was Sally surprised at his 
question about last evening? She seemed to 
ignore the fact that she had been roughly 
hurled into the black car and that he had 
tried to help her. She shouldn’t be riding 
in strange cars all over the city when im- 
portant papers were in her possession. 

He watched her every evening for a week 
after that, just to see. And every night the 
same performance was played. It bothered 
Carroll, and he determined to see what was 
going on. 

The next evening he was in front of her 
building as she came out. Her face again 
lighted up. 

“Hello, Mr. Carroll,” she said brightly. 
“Can’t stay away?” 

“No,” he smiled, wondering away from 
what? “Mind if I walk along?” 

“Not at all,” she said. There was no un- 
easiness in her now. Carroll was safe enough, 
an amnesia victim according to Dr. Pollard, 
who had told her to cultivate his friendship 
if she could. Sally and Dr. Pollard had been 
in a three hour conference on the day after 
Carroll had met her outside of the typing 
bureau. So Sally was prepared. 

“Mind?” he said, reaching for the box. 

“I shouldn’t let you,” she said seriously. 
“I’m charged with their delivery, you know. 
But — I guess you may, Mr. Carroll. I know 
it makes a man feel foolish to walk along 
with a woman carrying a big bundle. Go 
ahead.” 

H e took it. Now they’d have to deal 
with him! 

They came to the corner, stopped for 
traffic and Carroll looked about him nervous- 
ly. He was expecting trouble of some sort, 
but no trouble came. The lights changed 
with absolutely no sign of that black sedan 




and, as they were in mid-street, Sally said, 
“Mind if we stop off at the drug store for a 
sandwich?” 

“Is that all right?” he countered. 

“Yes,” she said. “I live a long ride from 
here and the typing bureau is on the way to 
the station. I asked Mr. Majors if this was 
okay, and he said it was. I’ve been doing 
this every night, now, for months.” 

“But the — ” he stubbed his toe on the far 
curb and stumbled. 

She laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but 
the picture of the great James Carroll 
stumbling over a curb — ” 

“What’s so peculiar about me falling over 
a curb?” he demanded. 

Sally blushed. Her remark had been in- 
stinctive. To her youth, barely out of ado- 
lescence, a brilliant physicist of thirty-five 



years should not be heir to the mundane 
misfortunes of the ordinary mortal. But she 
knew that she should not call attention to 
his past at all. 

“Nothing,” she chuckled. “Excepting the 
sight of a man trying to keep his balance 
and hang on to a box at the same time. Just 
struck my funnybone. I was not laughing at 
you; I was laughing more at the situation. 
Please — ” 

He nodded absently. They entered the 
drug store and sat down. She ordered and 
he repeated it. 

“Doesn’t this spoil your dinner?” he 
asked. 

“Nope. It’s a long ride home and by the 
time I get there I’m hungry all over again.” 

“I suppose this snack is a sort of habit,” 
he remarked idly. 



20 STARTLING STORIES 



“Uh-huh,” she answered. “But it isn’t too 
bad a habit.” 

He nodded in silent agreement. The sand- 
wich came and was finished in a short time, 
after which Carroll and his young com- 
panion left the drug store. 

Carroll took a quick look around him as 
they left but there was no car near them. 
He walked with her to the typing bureau, 
waited outside for her and then walked with 
her to the station. Then he went home to ask 
himself a multitude of questions. 

This was her regular procedure. She said 
so. But which procedure was regular? Her 
drugstore and sandwich habit or the taking 
of a joyride with the characters in the car? 

He picked up the paper she had dropped 
on the first encounter and looked it over. 
It was a formal report on the testing of some 
equipment that was too complex to under- 
stand. Something about a trimetal contact in 
an atmosphere of neon, completely sealed in 
a double-wall shield of copper with a low 
noise-level radio amplifier stage enclosed 
with the samples of metal in gas. 

It became vaguely familiar after about an 
hour of study but it was painfully difficult 
for him to concentrate on such an abstract 
idea. 

He considered again. Perhaps his presence 
had scared off the men in the black car. 
He’d do it differently next time. Again he 
watched her for a solid week — watched her 
reach the corner, turn, enter the black car 
— watched her return and continue on down 
the street with her box after fifteen minutes 
of being completely gone. 

Then for the second week he watched 
from the drugstore. 

And he emerged more puzzled than ever. 
For Sally joined him daily and talked with 
him as she had learned to do. 

Then, to top his confusion, he watched 
the girl enter the car and drive off one day, 
after which he entered the store across the 
corner, to see Sally sitting there waiting for 
her sandwich and obviously expecting him. 

“You’re late,” she said with a smile. 

“I’m confused,” he said dully. 

“Did you ever see a big black sedan?” he 

“Lots of them,” she said. “Why?” 

“Any one that you especially noted?” 

“No. Most of them are filled with people 
going somewhere in a hurry,” she returned 
with a laugh. “I often wish I had a car — or 
a friend with a car. I haven’t got any — at 



least none that work in this region of the 
city.” 

“Uh,” he grunted. “I’ve got to hurry,” 
he said with what he knew to be unpardon- 
able shortness. “See you tomorrow?” 

S HE nodded, and Carroll went out on the 
atreet in time to see her emerge from 
the black car and finish her delivery of the 
package to the typing bureau.. He looked 
back into the store, but she was gone. Nor 
had she passed him. 

That was enough for CarroU. He sought 
Dr. Pollard and told him the story. Pollard 
looked up with pleasure. James Carroll’s 
acceptance of such a problem and the attempt 
to figure it out was an excellent sign. He 
could give no answer, of course until . . . 

“Then come along,” said Carroll. “We’ve 
time.” 

They went silently. Carroll pointed out 
the black car as it approached the curb and 
then took Pollard into the store to meet Sally. 
She greeted them pleasantly and did not 
demur when they left precipitately because 
she knew that Dr. Pollard was trying to help 
Mr. Carroll out of his difficulty. Carroll 
showed Sally’s return fi'om the black car, 
and the subsequent delivery of the box of 
papers to the typing bureau. 

“Carroll,” said the psychologist sadly, "for- 
get it!” 

“Forget it?” demanded Carroll. 

“I saw no black car. You claim that Sally 
walked to the comer, turned away and 
entered a black sedan. Actually — though I 
said nothing — Sally crossed the stteet and 
entered the store. As we finished there and 
left she followed us, passed us on the side- 
walk and delivered her package. This is 
merely a delusion, James.” 

“Delusion?” said Carroll doubtfully. “Am 
I— Am I. . .? 

“I plead with you, James. Let me give you 
psychiatric help? Please?” 

Carroll considered. Delusion — he must be 
going mad. “I’ll be in to see you tomorrow,” 
he said. 

Pollard took a deep breath. 

“Thank God!” he said. 

James Carroll returned home in a dither. 
Regardless of the pain of — whatever it was 
—he was going to go through with this. 
Delusions and hallucinations of that vivid- 
ness should not be. He must be in a severe 
mental state. He hadn’t believed them when 
they told him that he had been a brilliant 



THE KINGDOM 

physicist. But this well-proven hallucina- 
tion was final. And before he got worse . . . 

James Carroll was in a state over his state 
by the time he opened his front door. He 
entered the room, looking idly about him, 
half in fear of what he might see next. 

What he saw was the sheet of paper willi 
the report on it. 

Could you feel an hallucination? Could 
you read an hallucination? How could a man 
with five nominal senses, all run by one 
brain, reach any decision? 

He pressed the button on his wall and the 
housekeeper entered. 

“Mrs. Bagby, I am in a slight mental tur- 
moil. Please trust me to the extent of ask- 
ing no questions but I beg of you to tell me 
exactly what I will be doing for the next 
few minutes?” 

“I’ll try,”® she said^ knowing from Dr. 
Pollard all about Mr. Carroll’s state of mind. 
She was willing to help. 

“You are sitting at your desk, reading a 
sheet of paper upon which are some hand- 
written notes and a sketch. Now you are 
rising. You have just torn off an inch from 
the bottom of the page — where there is no 
writing. You are lighting a match, touching 
it to the end of the paper. It burns. 

“You are walking toward the fireplace — 
moving swiftly now because the paper is 
burning rapidly. You drop it on the hearth — 
and the already-laid fire is catching. The 
chimney is smoking a bit and you are poking 
the fresh blaze.” 

He turned and faced her. 

“Thanks,” he said. “That’s what I thought 
I was doing. Now, to avoid a mental dis- 
cussion of personal metaphysics, I must 
establish the validity of this sheet of paper!” 

The housekeeper asked if there were any- 
thing more to do, and Carroll shook his head 
idly. She left, and James Carroll faced him- 
self in the mirror. 

“Whose hallucination?” he asked himself. 
“Mine — or Pollard’s?” 

He recalled a tale of a man so convinced 
of his hallucination of utter smallness that 
he prepared trick pictures of himself, com- 
pletely ovei-whelmed in size by the common 
water -hydra and its associated animalcules. 
Could he have prepared this report to sup- 
port his own belief? 

He smiled. Tomorrow he would know for 
certain! If his sheet were valid, it would be 
missing from the files. If anybody had inter- 
fered with the official channels of the reports 



OF THE BLIND 21 

it had been someone other than James For- 
rest Carroll, Perhaps Dr. Pollard could 
identify the report. 

Then he’d know who was hallucinating! 



CHAPTER III 
Kidnaped! 



D r. pollard finished telling his story 
to John Majors and said, “The' whole 
thing jells, John. Everything fits perfectly." 

“I don’t see it,” objected Majors. “How 
can a man driven into a psychosis by over- 
work turn up concocting such a wild-eyed 
yarn as this hallucination?” 

“Easily. Supposing that Carroll had come 
upon something basically unsound. Suppose 
all the rest had done the same, the other 
three or four. The tinkering with the notes 
is a normal justification for him — if someone 
hadn’t been tinkering with the notes, the 
problem might have been solved long ago. 

“Mrs. Bagby called me just before you 
came in, remember. I’ve taken time to in- 
spect all the compiled notes prepared by the 
typing bureau from a couple of days before 
Carroll’s illness to the present date. They’re 
all present. I’ve also inspected the originals. 
There are none missing. Carroll’s note must 
be a psychotic attempt to prove his sanity.” 
“How could he prepare such?” wondered 
Majors. 

“Easily. It was done under a psychic block 
and the patient remembers only the true — 
his true — facts of how he found it on the 
street.” 

“Then you believe that Carroll was not 
on that corner on the day he first saw Sally 
get hauled into that black sedan?” 

“He may not have been there at all. We 
all knew Sally’s habits and that corner very 
well. That Carroll returned on the following 
days is a part of his justification pattern. The 
whole thing is very logical. And it is too bad. 
I was hoping that Carroll’s interest in Sally 
was a glimmer of returning interest in life 
and work.” 

“The child is half his age,” snorted Majors 
in derision. 

“All right. So she’s about seventeen. I 
don’t expect any real attraction to develop— 
I’d feel much the same way about them if 
Sally happened to have been Tommy, the 



22 STAETUNG 

co-op student. All I want is for Carroll to 
have an interest in something or somebody. 
I’d gladly offer my wife up as an item for his 
interest because I know that no fixations 
would come of it.” 

Majors scowled. “I couldn’t say the same,” 
he observed. 

“That’s because you do not know Carroll’s 
underlying personality. I do.” 

“But you admit he’s not the same man.” 

“He isn’t— but his sense of loyalty is not 
changed. So long as he’s that way there’s 
hope for him.” 

“But what do you intend to do about him?” 
Dr. Pollard laughed. “Me? I’m going to 
admit that maybe he has something there, 
but that this thing is problematical. Oh-oh. 
He’s here,” said Pollard, pointing to a wink- 
ing pilot light above the door. An instant 
later his nurse entered and was told to send 
Mr. Carroll in. 

“Can you prove the identity of anything?” 
demanded Carroll once the opening greetings 
and informalities were finished. 

“It depends,” said Pollard cautiously. 

“Well, I have a sheet of paper here that 
came from that first day when I saw Sally 
confronted by the black sedan. Is this valid 
or is it false?” 

“Since I can show you the original of that 
report, it must be false,” replied Pollard, 
“You see, Jim, regardless of whether you 
admit it or not, you’ye been so close to the 
Lawson Radiation that you could easily fake 
up what might be a quiet valid report if you 
hoped to show some proof.” 

“But, good heavens, would I fake a report 
that I know will be matched by the original?” 
“In your right mind, no. I don’t know how- 
much this last couple of weeks of problem did 
to sharpen you up, Carroll. But remember 
that you were hitting an I.Q. of about seven- 
ty after your — accident. A seventy I.Q. might 
be that dense and can be that dense. 

“And, of course, the subconscious mind, 
hoping to salve your conscious mind, might 
do it. Now that you know it is false, per- 
haps your subconscious mind will bring 
forth something of a more convincing 
nature.” 

“If what I think is true,” said Carroll 
slowly, “the same men who intercept Sally 
every day are quite capable of producing as 
good a counterfeit as I am!” 

“I claim that there are no men in a black 
sedan.” 

“Oh?” 



STORIES 

“Tell me, Carroll, how do you rationalize 
the fact of two SaUys?” 

“I think there is something to all this that 
is far deeper than our five senses wiU admit,” 
said Carroll flatly. “Some agency is doing all 
it can to prevent us from finding out about 
the Lawson Radiation!” 

Pollard scribbled “persecution complex, 
too,” on his scratchpad in a brand of his own 
unreadable shorthand. Then he said, “You’re 
convinced to the contrary?” 

“I am.” 

“Tell you what I’ll do,” said Pollard. 
“Since you think this affair is what you 
claim, I’m going to give you a chance to 
prove it. I’m going to advance Sally into the 
mailing department and let you take over 
the job of delivering those reports yourself. 
You feel that they might not be able to pull 
the wool over your eyes?” 

“You know what I think?” said Carroll 
sharply. “I think that the days that I joined 
Sally for her sandwich I took a ride with 
her in that car, instead!” 

“How do you come to that conclusion?” 
asked the psychologist, scribbling on his 
scratchpad. 

“Because every day that I watched I saw 
her enter the car. Every day I was with her 
we saw no car. Could it be mass-hypnosis?” 
“It might — but why weren’t you hypno- 
tized?” 

“I don’t know. Why have I got this 
amnesia?” 

“It isn’t amnesia anymore,” said the psy- 
chologist ruefully. “It is now a definite 
psychic block against your former line of 
work, coupled with self- justified hallucina- 
tion.” 

“I hate to puncture that bubble,” said Pol- 
lard. “But I must. Take that job and find 
out for yourself!” 

“I will,” said James Carroll flatly. “You 
watch!” 

“Good!” 

“And I will not be stopping for sandwiches, 
either!” snapped Carroll. “Or, I might add, 
anything else!” 

AMES CARROLL tucked the box under- 
neath his arm and set out along the 
street. He walked warily, keeping a sharp 
lookout for the black sedan. A few hundred 
feet ahead of him he saw Sally turn into the 
drug store for her habitual snack but he sup- 
pressed very quickly the impulse to follow 
her and talk to her about the job. 




THE KINGDOM 

tie stood on the corner of the square, wait- 
ing for traffic. It was a reasonably long-time 
light for the crosstown road, and Carroll 
reached for a cigarette. His pack was empty, 
so he crumpled it and tossed it in the nearby 
waste-chute and looked about him questing- 

ly- 

The corner upon which he stood held a 
cigar store and James Carroll entered the 
shop to buy cigarettes. The store was rather 
full and he was forced to wait. 

And it came to him, then. During that 
wait it came to his feebly-groping mind that 
this was the same sort of pattern that he had 
seen before. Was this truth — or reality? 
He smiled, and as the storekeeper came 
towards him, he looked the man in the eye 
and said: 

“When did you split me off?” 

There was a look of amazement on the 
proprietor’s face — ^wonder, puzzlement and a 
scowl of slight anger. 

“You heard me,” said Carroll flatly. “What 
are you doing to my reports?” 

“You’re nuts,” said the storekeeper. 

“Am I?” replied Carroll lightly. “Then I’ll 
tell you why. The Lawson Radiation comes 
from a system of interstellar travel, used by 
some race out in the Bootes region of the 
sky. The insoluble dilemma is how to go 
out to learn the secret of interstellar travel 
when I need interstellar travel to go out and 
ask the questions — ” 

The man’s face faded, distorted like a 
cheap oil-clay image under too warm a light. 

The store flowed down, too, and swirled 
around in a grand melee of semiplastic 
matter. The light inside the store darkened 
and the only illumination within the rolling, 
churning store came from a light that swung 
back and forth madly in front of the door. 



OF THE BLIND 23 

Carroll fell backwards into a cushion of 
soft-plastic floor which bounced slightly 
under him from time to time. A low roar- 
ing mutter came to his ears. The light con- 
tinued to swing but it was swinging past a 
window now and only in one direction. 

He opened his eyes wide and faced the 
man in the seat beside him. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“It isn’t, very,” growled the man. 

The driver turned, swore in a strange 
tongue and then turned the car back. The 
driver’s companion picked up a small phone 
and spoke rajjidly into it. The car rounded 
the block, re-passed the corner long enough 
to pick up a man dressed as Carroll was. 

Halfway down the next block the man got 
out and took the box of reports. Then the 
car drove away and, as it pulled away. Car- 
roll felt the jab of a needle in his thigh. 



CHAPTER IV 
Face to Face 



S LOWLY, the initial thought that filtered 
through the velvety, comfortable black- 
ness was that he was James Forrest Carroll. 
That established, the rest came with a swift 
flow of fact and acceptance in chronological 
order that brought him to the present date. 

It seemed almost instantaneous, this return 
to reality. Yet in his drugged state, or rather 
the state of fighting off the last dregs of the 
potion, Carroll did not recognize the long 
interim periods of slumber. Actually it took 
him six hours to return to a full state of 

[Turn page] 




TOPS FOR 0(/AUTy 



24 STARTLING STORIES 



wakefulness. He was unaware of the slumber 
periods and they subtracted from his time- 
consciousness. 

When finally he did come fully awake, it 
was to look into the faces of the two men 
who had abducted him. 

“Wh — ■?” he grunted, believing that he ut- 
tered a complete sentence asking what the 
score was. 

“You know too much,” said the man on the 
left. 

The implication did not filter in at first. 
It came very slowly that one who knew too 
much was often prevented from telling it to 
the right people. 

Then he said, “What are you going to do 
to me?” 

“Eliminate you,” came the cold answer. 

The other man shook his head slowly. 
“No.” he said. “Not at once.” 

The first one turned abruptly. “Look, 
Kingallis,” he snapped, “This one is a definite 
threat.” 

“And there may be others,” smiled King- 
allis. “We could easily eliminate him. And 
we will but only after we locate exactly what 
there is about him that permits him to be a 
threat to us. There may be others. We must 
stop them.” 

Sargenuti nodded in a sardonic manner. 
“Even in the face of a threat the great Doctor 
Kingallis must experiment!” 

“I’ll have none of your sarcasm!” snapped 
Kingallis. “You are not my equal by four 
groups. You are my underling and will 
therefore do my bidding with no quarrel.” 

“Yes, master,” sneered Sargenuti. 

Kingallis stepped forward and slapped the 
other across the face with the back of his 
hand. Sargenuti stood four inches taller than 
the doctor and outweighed him by at least 
thirty pounds. He could have broken King- 
allis in half with his bare hands but he 
accepted the insult across his face without 
flinching nor attempt to retaliate. 

“Because we are isolated here, far from 
our normal surroundings, you have become 
slovenly in your attitude,” snapped King- 
allis. “You are no planner, Sargenuti. Your 
method is acceptable in some cases but you 
have not the intellectual equipment to cope 
with a situation as involved as this is. 

“Whether you continue as you are,, ad- 
vance in your work or are dropped a group 
depends upon the future. Suppose there 
were several people involved that have his 
power?” 



“There cannot be,” returned Sargenuti. 

“Fool! If there is one there may be others. 
Now do as I say without argument!” 

Carroll listened to this discussion with 
interest. From it he learned that there was 
obviously some plot against the Solar System 
and that he, Carroll, was possessed of some 
factor that made his continuance dangerous 
to their plotting. 

He half-smiled and said, “There are many 
like me.” 

Kingallis turned back to his captive and 
shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “There are not! Sargenuti 
had no trouble until he ran into James For- 
rest Carroll. That is why he is bloated with 
delusions of grandeur. He thinks because 
he has had no competition that he is supreme. 

“He forgets the platitude, ‘It is a sharp 
blade that cuts but cheese!’ It is notable, 
however, that the first time he met James 
Forrest Carroll he was forced to call for 
help.” 

“I was puzzled,” admitted Sargenuti. 

“A slightly more intelligent moron would 
have known that this man was capable of 
avoiding your block,” snapped Kingallis. 
“When he came forward to interfere the first 
time. That is when you should have caught 
him. Instead you ignored him for too long. 
Idiot!” 

“All right,” grumbled Sargenuti.. “But this 
is just telling Carroll things he wants to 
know.” 

K ingallis smiled sourly. “Perhaps it 
is better that way,” he said. “When he 
sees what he is up against he may be less 
violent.” 

“And if he again escapes?” 

“He will not escape.” 

Sargenuti laughed roughly. “It would be 
drastically amusing to find that James For- 
rest Carroll is smarter than the great Doctor 
Kingallis.” 

“Shut up!” snapped Kingallis angrily. 

He turned to Carroll. “You know too 
much,” he said. “Yet I have no qualms about 
telling you more. It is our job to prevent the 
spread of knowledge about the Lawson 
Radiation, to discourage research and to 
cause the importance of the Radiation to 
diminish. 

“We employ mass hypnotism to intercept 
the reports, to read them, to make the minor 
changes that prevent correlation of certain 
data that would lead to some discovery of 



THE KINGDOM 

importance. This happens only once in a 
few months. 

“We can tell by the title of the experiment 
whether it may or may not include a clue. 
When someone comes upon a real find we 
erase his mind.” 

“And I came upon something?” 

“You did.” 

“What was it?” 

Kingallis smiled tolerantly. “You wouldn’t 
expect me to tell you?” 

Carroll shrugggd. “I suppose not,” he said. 
“But just why do you think I am a basic 
threat to your plans?” 

“Obvious. Of all, you are the first that 
ever came back to full control of his faculties 
after we erased your mind. The others have 
pain syndromes every time they consider re- 
search at all. You do not. 

“Not only that, you were capable of avoid- 
ing the block. We used mass hypnosis on 
the people within a visible radius of that 
corner. Of them all, you alone can see the 
black sedan and the resulting interception.” 
“But when I went with Sally you inter- 
cepted me, too.” 

“Of course. But you were then right in 
the main focus of the control beam.” 

Kingallis turned to Sargenuti. “I thank 
you for not killing him imder the beam,” he 
said. “Your unimaginative mind might have 
done that. It would have erased a danger, 
true, but would have prevented our study of 
the danger at first hand.” 

Then he turned back to Carroll. “We 
might not have been able to kill you, at that,” 
he said. “I don’t know. You seem to have 
become stronger each time you underwent 
the control instead of becoming weaker like 
the average subject of hypnotism.” 

“But—?” 

Kingallis shrugged. “Most interesting,” 
he said reflectively. “Most interesting.” 
“What is so interesting?” grunted Sarge- 
nuti. 

“Consider,” said Kingallis. “He finally 
entered direct control alone. He was the 
focus. You did succeed in controlling him to 
a certain point but James Forrest Carroll — 
mentally living in a perfect dream — recog- 
nized the fact that this was not true. 

“He broke the dream, the power of our 
beam. His unaided will power, Sargenuti, 
came up from below a sensory delusion and 
forced recognition of the truth against the 
evidence presented by his physical senses.” 
“So?” 



OF THE BLIND 25 

“So,” concluded Kingallis, “We shall find 
out what it is about this man’s mind that is 
powerful enough to overcome the power of 
our beam. For, Sargenuti, we may encounter 
others.” 

I N THE days that followed, one upon the 
next in a never varying monotony, James 
Forrest Carroll increased both his store of 
knowledge and his judgment. It has been 
said that wide experience is a condition 
wherein the possessor can fall back upon 
some personal precedent for any situation 
that arises. 

Carroll, however, could have no such 
precedent, nor is it likely that any man or all 
men combined could piece together a reason- 
able decision based on piecemeal precedent. 
Therefore Carroll faced the situation with a 
complete lack of experience. 

He realized that making any decision now 
would be so much tossing of a coin. Lacking 
the full particulars, the reasons, the under- 
standing of the other race’s motives, he 
could make no plans. 

Yet he did know from experience that the 
best way to lay a cornerstone upon which to 
build a plan was to wait, to study and then, 
when the final returns were in, to decide. 

Kingallis had confirmed Carroll’s sus- 
picion that an Extrasolar agency was doing 
its utmost to prevent the spread of knowl- 
edge about the Lawson Radiation. 

Kingallis had not mentioned why. 

The facts that Carroll had were sketchy. 
He knew only what he had already suspected. 
He had been kidnapped. He knew why. The 
latter reason was both logical and also a per- 
fect answer to a paranoid question. 

He shied away from it, and recognized his 
own unwillingness to face the fact. That in 
itself bothered Carroll because he disliked to 
think himself insane, even though he often 
questioned his sanity. 

Carroll found that none of this was re- 
assuring. There was no equitable yardstick 
that the mind could apply to itself. It is often 
said that the insane cannot question their 
own sanity — that to question your own sanity 
is a sign of stability. 

Yet it may be quite true that a clever para- 
noid might question his own sanity regular- 
ly as a means of proving to himself that he is 
sane. Carroll played with this mad spiral 
often and found it a vicious circle. 

So in between his sessions of study, James 
Forrest Carroll tried to delve into his own 



26 STABTUNG STORIKS 



mind. He had come to only one conclusion: 
That so long as Kingallis was studying him, 
he was able also to study Kingallis. 

The problem of why bothered Carroll. 

Mankind has never ceased to study any- 
thing that might prove dangerous. Almost 
any discovery made is dangerous in some 
manner. It is just that mankind has learned 
to handle its discoveries with care as they 
became useful. Or else — 

He tried broaching the why to Kingallis 
and was brushed off openly with, “It is of no 
consequence.” 

Carroll considered two possible answers. 
One, of course, was that Kingallis and his 
people were suppressing all study to prevent 
the Terrans from learning about interstellar 
travel for purely personal reasons. You do 
not give away your military secrets to a 
people you hope to destroy. 

The other reason was the complete oppo- 
site — the other race, knowing the dangers 
of research, were trying to keep Terra from 
becoming involved until Terra grew up. 
Handing the secrets of nuclear fission to a 
race not yet ready for it was one example, 
though a bad one, for it takes considerable 
technical excellence to handle it. 

A simpler case is plain black gunpowder — 
sulfur, charcoal and potassium nitrate. Boys 
in chemistry class have lost their hands and 
their eyes because they played with that 
which they did not understand well enough. 
The nitration of glycerine is not too hard to 
perform, yet in the hands of an amateur it 
may take the house skyward before the pro- 
ject is finished. 

For, strangely enough, the amateur at any 
science feels that he must make a large 
batch in order to do it at all. In electricity 
he wants excessive powers and lethal volt- 
ages to do that which a trained technician 
can accomplish with less deadly items. 

However — was the motive avarice or altru- 
ism? 

James Forrest Carroll studied them as they 
studied him. 



CHAPTER V 
Kingallis 



INGALLIS himself put an end to one 
of Carroll’s worries. After several 
days of study, the alien doctor called him 
aside. 



“Carroll, you know that you are helpless,” 
he said. “We know that you are helpless. 
The point is just this: We can study your 
mind better if you are not worrying. There- 
fore I am going to put an end to one major 
worry of yours. Remember, always, we know 
that you are studjdng us! 

“We are using the forerunner of our mental 
control beam to study you, Carroll. You 
know that. The mental educator came first, 
the mental control without wearing elec- 
trodes came long afterwards.” 

“Understandable,” nodded Carroll easily. 
“Men learned to communicate along a wire 
long before they used radio.” 

“The gadget we’ve been using is none other 
than a person-to-person telepathy aid. It was 
first developed as a means of placing men 
en rapport while studying a complex prob- 
lem. Thus, for instance, a machinist can do 
a job for an electrical project while under- 
standing perfectly just why this must or 
must not be done despite its mechanical de- 
sirability. 

“It was but a step from that to its use in 
educating the youth of our race. A rather 
complex problem, Carroll, and one that can- 
not be appreciated until the whole problem 
is studied complete with both successes and 
failures. 

“We taught then, Carroll, from a teacher- 
to-student plan. Later it was discovered how 
to record certain phases of lessons. The latter 
• removes one main difficulty of the automatic 
educator.” 

“Mind telling me what?” asked Carroll, 
fencing for more information. 

“Not at all. You see, the living hookup 
produces a double flow of information — 
which is what I meant to tell you. You are 
studying me as I am studying you — and, as 
in the case of an infant with erroneous 
information, you are placing errata in the 
teacher’s mind.” 

“All children know — from their limited 
visible evidence — -that the earth is flat. Only 
deep study proves otherwise. I can see where 
a continued youthful insistence upon a flat 
earth might cause a bit of mental collision in 
any teacher’s mind.” Carroll’s voice was 
sharp. 

“You have the point exactly,” smiled King- 
allis. 

“Then tell me,” Carroll said suddenly, 
“why I cannot find out why you are sup- 
pressing the information I want?” 

“Because we are not studying that,” smiled 




THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND 27 



the alien doctor. “I surprise you? You 
expected me to wish my answer recalled? 
No, Carroll, I care not that you know some 
things about us.” 

Carroll shrugged. Kingallis was clever. 
Had Carroll known that worry hampered the 
study he would have felt relieved even 
though he tried to worry more. That would 
have been a minor defeat. 

But the fact that Kingallis knew and 
cared not, removed all concern from Car- 
roll’s mind but one, and that one was how to 
hamper the research alone. It was not a 
satisfactory question as there was no satisfac- 
tory answer. 

It was many hours later that both a possi- 
ble answer and a complete impossibility of 
its use came to a sleepless man. Carroll arose 
from his bed and tried the door. It was open. 
Carroll’s enforced residence was a large 
estate, a good many miles from town, in the 
center of a hilly country. 

Carroll left his room and went down the 
hallway to the laboratory. He prayed that 
no one was following him with a mind-read- 
ing beam of some sort. He guessed that if 
these aliens could control an entire com- 
munity with a mental beam, it would be no 
trouble to read his mind. 

H e found the cabinets that contained 
the records of knowledge used by the 
aliens. These were large reels of wire in 
metal magazines. On the face and back of 
each case was its title in the — to Carroll — 
completely unreadable alien characters. 

That was a problem in itself. A lot of good 
it would do to acquire useless knowledge. 
Carroll wanted scientific facts or perhaps a 
recording of their plans. A complete course 
in alien geography, for instance, would be 
completely useless — the aliens seemed dis- 
inclined to take him from earth. 

Yet Carroll had no way of knowing what 
these characters represented. A book might 
have given a clue — books often contain pic- 
tures. There was no telling on a reel of wire. 

Carroll wondered whether the reels were 
stored in some sort of alphabetical order, in 
some numerical order or according to some 
semantic plan that gave the initial startings 
first and permitted the selector to progress. 
He knew, however, that if he were running 
such an expedition, he would not include 
Guffey’s First Reader among the collection of 
texts. His chances of learning the rudiments 
of the alien tongue were remote. 



In selecting a book one scans through the 
pages. In selecting a reel one must try it. 

So, making a guess, James Forrest Carroll 
selected a container at random and, still 
amused at the guesswork quality, he carried 
it to the machine used by Kingallis to study 
his mind. 

He flipped the switches as he had seen 
Kingallis do it. He inserted the reel maga- 
zine in the obvious slot and fiddled with 
some tiny toggles until the reel started to 
feed through the machine. 

Then quickly, Carroll slipped the head 
electrodes on and reclined on the soft couch 
to let the flow of knowledge enter. 

In complete oblivion as the machine ran, 
Carroll had no control over his actions. It 
ran on and on and the unreeling wire passed 
its knowledge into Carroll’s brain. It con- 
cluded finally and Carroll sat up. 

It was faintly light outside and by that 
faint light Carroll looked at his watch and 
was amazed to find that it was almost six 
o’clock in the morning. He quickly replaced 
the reel and turned to go back to his room. 

“Pleased with yourself?” asked a quiet 
voice. 

Carroll jumped a foot. Then in the dim 
light he saw the form of a woman, fully 
dressed, sitting in an easy chair not far from 
the door. To add to his complete surprise he 
hadn’t known that women were with .this 
outfit. 

“Who are you?” he demanded. 

“Plead, do not demand,” she said. “For 
you have not the right to courtesy.” 

“Madam, I am a prisoner here. Courtesy 
per sc has no meaning at all. I have as much 
right to prowl the place, picking up what I 
can, as you have to imprison me in the first 
place.” 

“A nice point of ethics and quite devoid 
of rational answer,” smiled the woman. In 
the gaining light James Forrest Carroll saw 
that she was passably good looking though 
certainly no raving beauty. When she spoke, 
her white teeth gleamed in the dim light. 

“However,” she said, “I am Rhinegallis, 
King’s sister.” Then she laughed. “And 
that,” she said, “is the only thing you learned 
this evening!” 

“Oh, I’d not say that,” said Carroll. 

“Then tell me,” she said amusedly, “how 
you justify yourself.” 

C ARROLL paused. Somehow it seemed 
normal to him that he should not care 



28 STARTLING STORIES 



to appear weak or helpless in front of a 
woman, even an alien woman. Yet the truth 
of the matter was that Carroll was a com- 
plete captive and at the mercy of this bunch. 

Whatever he did he did at their sufferance. 
There was little to be gained by quiet ridicule 
in explaining that he had taken a recording 
by sheer blind -guesswork because there was 
no other way. 

There was little to be gained but open 
ridicule to be forced to admit to this woman 
that he, James Forrest Carroll, reputed to be 
one of the Solar System’s foremost physicists, 
was in a position seldom if ever occupied 
by any human being. 

He knew and he knew that he knew, but 
he knew not what he knew! 

He laughed helplessly. “Son lava tin quil 
norwham enectramic colvay si tin mer vo 
si — ” 

“Very lucid,” she replied in English. “So 
in the course of the evening, James Forrest 
Carroll has a complete course in our science 
— in our language-pattern in our manner of 
thinking. And,” she laughed merrily, “of none 
of which he has the slightest comprehension. 

“That was a nice try, Carroll, but availing 
nothing. I’ll tell you this, however — what 
you have learned this night is of no more 
use to you than a complete knowledge of 
archeology so far as an answer to your 
present problem goes. 

“And for your trouble — it is a rather 
complimentary thing that you’d make such a 
try, and we’ll all commend you — I’ll be your 
guest for breakfast.” 

“Thank you,” said Carroll cryptically. “I 
hope I’m amusing.” 

Rhinegallis stood up and faced Carroll. 
“You are quite a man,” she said earnestly. 
“And though we must — use you — ^we still 
admire you.” 

“One might admire the tenacity and abil- 
ity of a pet dog who is working its way 
through a maze toward a hunk of steak,” he 
said quietly. “Yet one does not consider the 
dog our equal. ” 

Rhinegallis shook her head. “Would it 
please you to know that you are a threat to 
us?” 

“I’ve known that,” he returned quickly. 
“And so is a dog a threat to man. Dogs can 
kill. They do not because they know that 
they are dependent for life upon becoming 
man’s friend.” 

“And you?” 

He smiled sourly. “Again the question of 



ethics,” he said. “For no matter what I say 
you know that I shall do anything I find 
necessary to defeat you.” 

“We will never accept your word as bond,” 
she told him. “Were it a simple matter of 
personal integrity and honor we could take 
it and be satisfied. But there is too much at 
stake. A man would be a complete fool to 
give his word and keep it when his future 
hangs in the balance.” 

“I’d not give it,” he said simply. And then 
he turned to her with a cryptic smile. “So 
my future and the future of Sol are really 
at stake?” 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“Then you are a threat.” 

Rhinegallis smiled at him. “Is one a threat 
that does not permit the child to play with 
fire?” she said coolly. 

“May I point out that I am not a child,” 
he said crossly. 

“Ros nile ver tan si vol Mys,” she said in 
her own tongue. “And if you know what I 
said you’d know what you studied last night.” 
“W'hen a child is deprived of matches, he 
is told why — in many cases he is shown mild- 
ly what happens. So go ahead, Rhinegallis, 
treat me as a child — and tell me, Rhinegallis, 
why I must not play with the Lawson Radi- 
ation.” 

“It is dangerous,” she replied. 

“In my lifetime,” he said, “I have been 
responsible for the direction of many chil- 
dren. I have yet to turn away a curious — 
honestly curious — child. Mankind is always 
curious — providing we know why.” 

“It is dangerous,” she repeated. 
“Dangerous,” he echoed. “Dangerous, 
Rhinegallis, to whom? You?” 

“Mr. Carroll,” she said quietly, “you think 
you have trapped me into an admission. 
You have not. Tell me, do you honestly 
think you can take the position of demand- 
ing an answer?” 

“I think so.” 

“You cannot. You have not.” 

“No?” he said with a bitter laugh, “then 
if your race has no evil intent it could stop 
a lot of trouble, suspicion and labor by guid- 
ing us instead of blocking our efforts. Add 
to that your own refusal to tell me one thing 
that would frighten me away. I come up with 
a rather unhappy answer, Rhinegallis.” 

The girl turned away and left. Her offer 
to join him for breakfast was forgotten. 
Carroll watched her back as she went down 
the hallway and considered himself lucky. 



THE KINGDOM 

Even considering that their way of life was 
alien to Terran thinking, no advancing race 
could ever deny honest curiosity unless it 
had some ulterior motive. Ergo, they were 
suppressing the truth about the Lawson 
Radiation because they were afraid that 
Terra would find the answer! 

From behind him he heard Kingallis chuck- 
ling. 

“Val tas Winel yep jrah?” 

Carroll turned angrily. “Sell it to Tin Pan 
Alley,” he snapped. “I’ve heard worse jangle 
songs!” 

He stamped off angrily to his room. 



CHAPTER VI 
Proof 



O NCE in his room, Carroll gave way to a 
period of complete slump, both mental 
and physical. He just sat there and felt — not 
thought about — the sheer impossibility of a 
single man successfully fighting an entire 
inimical culture. 

The more he considered it the more he 
felt the futility of it all. The fact that he of 
all the teeming billions of Sol’s heritage, was 
cognizant made it that more hopeless. 

Then out of that last, single, hopeless fact 
James Forrest Carroll took a new hope. 

For upon himself and himself alone rested 
the salvation of mankind! Regardless of 
what the world might think of him, regard- 
less of life itself, he must carry on! 

And when he returned to confront Doctor 
Pollard he must have visible proof! 

The day dragged slowly. As usual, Kingal- 
lis did his studying, but found it hopeless 
because of Carroll’s deep funk. Kingallis 
gave up and left Carroll, which was worse 
for Carroll because he had all those long 
hours in which to sit and stew. 

Evening came, and with it came more hope. 
Whatever it was that Carroll learned it was 
there and stuck tight. Whether valid or use- 
less it was there. It seemed useful but he 
could not tell. 

For instance there was a concept of a 
circlet of silvery wire. This was mounted on 
a small cylindrical slug of metal that en- 
closed a bimorph crystal. The picture con- 
cept showed contour surfaces of force or 
energy that grew progressively fainter as 



OF THE BLIND 29 

they retreated from the circlet of wire. 

Not magnetism — for Carroll could see no 
energizing current. Not electrostatic field — 
for there could be no gradient. The word- 
concept for the thing was “Selvan thi tan vi 
son klys vornakal ingra rol vou.” 

Well — whenever Carroll knew words he 
would know what the circlet of wire did — 
and why. 

But as he drew the diagram on a sheet of 
paper and labeled each part with a Terran 
symbol-system representing the alien sounds 
Carroll understood one other thing. No book 
is complete without an index! 

Wire recordings of text books are imprac- 
tical otherwise. An engineer seeking infor- 
mation on the winding, packing fraction of a 
certain type of wire would not care to wade 
through four hours of facts. Of course he 
should know it already, for the facts would 
be indelibly impressed upon his mind. 

But there was the forgetffng-factor that 
comes from disuse of any fact and doubtless 
this automatic means of education did not 
forever endow the owner with an eidetic 
memory of everything — never to be lost no 
matter how long the facts lie in disuse. But 
every text book has an index. 

And so Carroll sought the laboratory again 
that night and selected another roll at ran- 
dom. He placed it in the machine and, as he 
started it, hurled a thought into the machine. 

Not words, but mere concept — the abstract 
idea of listing hurled into the machine and 
the wire reel sang swiftly through the ma- 
chine to slow down at a listing. 

Useless, of course — there were things like, 
“Walklin — norva Kin. Fol sa ganna mel zin.” 
Chapter and verse, probably. What Carroll 
sought was a dictionary. 

He tried another reel and found it as 
mystifying. A third reel came upon a listing 
that seemed vaguely familiar. Along with 
the mere words, of course, there were mental 
pictures. 

“Zale,” he learned, was a measure of dis- 
tance equivalent to seventeen .thousand 
times ten to the eighth power times the wave- 
length of the spectroscopic line of evaalorg. 

Carroll had hit upon a section of physical 
identities found in most physics texts. 

I JffE ALSO learned a large number of 
physical identities of no consequence. 
The unit of gravity expressed in the alien 
terms meant nothing to a man used to dynes 



30 STARTUNG STORIES 



and poundals. There was too much left un- 
said. 

What the element evaalorg might be Car- 
roll had no idea, although if he persisted he 
might hit upon a chemistry text — and it was 
safe to assume that the Periodic Chart of the 
atoms would be the same in any of the 
galaxy. 

He smiled. It was like trying to calculate 
the true size of Noah’s Ark by assuming the 
length of a cubit. When you have finished 
calculating you have a plus or minus thirty 
percent. 

He was about to select another case when 
the door opened softly and Rhinegallis 
entered. 

“Why do you try?” she asked. Her voice 
and her manner were as though she had not 
walked away from his question of almost 
eighteen hours ago. 

“Why?” he repeated dully. 

“Yes why? Why do you insist in the face 
of the impossible?” 

“Because,” he said, facing her deliberately, 
“when I admit defeat James Forrest Carroll 
dies!” 

“You’re not suicidal.” 

“Madness,” he said, “is suicide of the 
mind!” 

Rhinegallis nodded and then looked down. 
He went to her and lifted her face by placing 
a hand under her chin. 

“Rhinegallis,” he said softly, “place your- 
self in my position. You are a prisoner of a 
culture that is inimical to your own. You are 
kept alive as a museum piece, a sample of 
life that refuses to be swayed by your mind- 
directing machinery. Of all the people of 
your race, you are the only one that knows 
and believes. 

“Death — or worse — awaits you and yours 
at the end of some unknown time. You are 
in the position of being the only one that can 
do anything at all. Tell me, Rhinegallis, 
would you sit quietly and accept it?” 

“Since I would be unable to do anything 
alone,” replied Rhinegallis, “I would accept 
fate.” 

“Then die!” snapped Carroll. “Do nothing? 
Try nothing? That is stagnation — and stag- 
nation is death!” 

“I think Kingallis knows that,” said the 
alien girl with a flash of recognition. 

“Oh,” said Carroll, crestfallen. “Then 
Kingallis gives me some old outdated vol- 
umes of books to play with, as a willful child 
is directed to cut old rags instead of the lace 



curtains. Since I must play games, by all 
means give me games that will harm no one! 

“Mumbletypeg labeled ‘dangerous’ and 
celluloid toys made up to resemble fierce 
knives on the theory that childi’en prefer 
such toys of the block and rattle nature. 
Bottles full of colored sand with skull-and- 
crossbones on them and directions against 
certain mixtures. 

“The amusement-park roller coaster that 
seems dangerous — in fact someone knows 
someone who knows of a bad accident on it — 
but is, in fact, less dangerous than a ride in 
an automobile through traffic.” 

Rhinegallis was silent. 

“Then what am I to do?” he stormed. “I 
have no one here of my own kind. Not a 
single understanding soul to lean upon in 
a moment of stress. A man alone in an in- 
imical environment — and I am expected to 
play your tricks for you!” 

“You—” 

“Am I expected to aid you?” 

“No,” she said honestly. “Yet in deference 
to yc r— ” 

“Deference!” he laughed scornfully. “De- 
ference? No, Rhinegallis, not deference nor 
even respect. I am the experimental dog that 
must be pampered because my life and my 
mind and my body must be studied. Not 
deference, Rhinegallis, but the deadly fear 
of a spreading poison. Isolation.” 

“I am afraid that I should not have come,” 
she said— but it was more a spoken thought 
than an attempt to convey anything. 

“Then you tell Kingallis that no man will 
strive forever with no result. The donkey 
must once in a while get a taste of the 
carrot.” 

“What do you want?” she asked softly. 

“And if I tell you will I get the truth — or 
just more runaround?” he asked. 

“You are too suspicious,” she said softly. 
“Deference you may not have, really. But 
you do have respect.” 

“What manner of respect can you possibly 
have for me?” he said with an open sneer. 

“You are a strong man,” replied Rhine- 
gallis. “Your strength is sufficient to pene- 
trate the mental beam. To defy King’s at- 
tempts to study you, bar my tries at following 
your reason. Kingallis can point the remote 
hypnosis beam at me and from it can read 
my innermost thought. 

“Against aU resistance the hypnoscope is 
best — except against James Forrest Carroll. 
You, Carroll, resent this studying and prying. 



THE KINGDOM 

Kjiow— and feel gratified — that as little as 
you have learned from my brother he knows 
less of you!” 

“And after defying all to completion the 
defiance is obliterated,” replied Carroll bit- 
terly. “For me — oblivion. For mine— what?” 

“It need not be — loneliness,” she said in a 
soft voice. 

“Joy in the shadow of the sword?” he said 
sourly. “Pleasures of the flesh with an alien 
race that would not even understand my 
passionate gesture?” 

He laughed shortly and roughly. 

“Affection is but a prelude to understand- 
ing between mates. Tell me,” he said with 
extreme cynicism, “have' you laid your egg 
this year?” 

“You — no!” she said quickly. “I was but 
trying to ease your lot.” 

He dropped his cynicism instantly. Rhine- 
gallis seemed honestly hurt at his calloused 
attitude. 

“You cannot, Rhinegallis,” he said softly. 
“I am no longer a youth, to whom personal 
passion and pleasure is the ultimate. I give 
you a demonstration of affection.” He placed 
both hands upon her shoulders and squeezed 
gently. He leaned down and kissed her light- 
ly. “Not deep, but still a genuine gesture. 
Do you respond? No, you do not, for your 
race is utterly alien despite your appearance. 
Do you then expect me to continue, knowing 
that you do not even understand why I might 
derive sensual pleasure from such contact?” 

“Even though we be alien,” she said, “the 
fact that you do enjoy contact might give 
me — 

“Stop rationalizing,” he said roughly. 

“I’m not,” she said. “There is a meeting of 
minds that far exceeds any crude mating of 
bodies.” 

‘“rhen,” he said with a queer crooked 
smile, “let’s keep this on a mental basis, 
huh?” 

R hinegallis nodded quietly. She 

went to a side cupboard and took out 
a single reel of wire. 

“Here is what you want,” she told him. 
“Swiftly now, for Kingallis must never 
know.” 

“A nibble of the carrot,” he observed. 
“You want a whole meal?” she returned 
angrily. “Are you devoid of understanding?” 
“I am permitted to play with innocuous 
trifles,” he said. “When I discover their in- 
effectiveness I am invited to seduction. Fail- 



OF THE BLIND 31 

ing that, I am offered some trifle of value. 
Tell me, Rhinegallis, how far will you go 
to lull my mind into inactivity?” 

For answer, Rhinegallis turned and left 
him. Perhaps if Rhinegallis had been one 
of Sol’s children she might have been crying 
or at least racked with the bitterness that 
comes of having an honest gesture scorned. 
Whatever her reaction Carroll shrugged as 
she left the room and he forgot her as he 
looked at the single recording. 

“I hope,” he said, “that this carrot is 
sweet. ...” 

Carroll came out of the semi-coma pro- 
duced by the machine with a premonition of 
danger — not danger to himself, but a vague 
unrest, as though someone near to him were 
being threatened. He was alone and he knew 
at once that Rhinegallis was the only one 
of the aliens who knew the truth of this night. 

Had any of the others come, they would 
have seen at once that he was working on a 
volume of importance and would have 
stopped him. However, as the minutes 
passed, the feeling of worry ceased and 
Carroll felt relief. 

He attributed the feeling to a situation 
known as “wandering concern” which is 
based upon insecurity. He had been in the 
mental coma for hours, during which time 
much might have happened. He had suc- 
ceeded, with Rhine’s aid, in delving into the 
truth about the alien culture. 

This placed him in jeopardy for while they 
laughed behind his back for toying with the 
useless records, their derision would change 
to far deeper distrust and hate were he 
known to have outguessed them. There is 
nothing more dangerous than turning a 
man’s bitter joke against him. 

So for hours Carroll had been both help- 
less under the machine and also doing that 
which was forbidden. He was like the small 
boy who has been swimming and is not 
certain of his future until he meets his par- 
ents and discovers whether they know of his 
truancy. 

Carroll replaced the record. There was 
no sense in permitting Rhinegallis to be 
trapped. Besides, this might go on for some 
time — and if he could he would fight this out 
to the very bitter end. Who knew what he 
might learn next. 

This night’s work had been language. Not 
that the volume taught him Alien. It was a 
volume for aliens, to teach them the Terran 
languages. But by reverse reasoning it also 



32 STARTLING STORIES 



taught Carroll the alien tongue as well as a 
couple of good Terran tongues he did not 
know. He was — because he formerly pos- 
sessed an excellent knowledge of American — 
now possessed of Russian, Chinese and 
Spanish, as well as the single alien tongue. 

For the record dealt with concepts and 
then impressed the word-symbol of the idea 
in all tongues. And if Hombre means Man, 
conversely, Man means Hombre! 

Best of all it was a specialized course that 
dealt with the kind of language scientists and 
engineers would use, though not exclusively 
so. Carroll felt cheered. Now he might 
mingle with them if he wanted to. Stealthily 
he left the laboratory to return to his room. 



CHAPTER VII 
Free-for-all 



C 'CARROLL passed a partly opened door 
y down the corridor, and as he passed, 
he heard Elingallis utter a single word of 
dislike at someone unknown. Though it 
was in the alien tongue Carroll’s well- 
trained mind gave him the translation in 
terms of real meaning rather than the trans- 
literation of the word in terms of his mother 
tongue, as is often the case with a language 
learned after the initial schooling as a child. 

Carroll paused instantly, and as he did so, 
the door opened more, showing both ICingai- 
lis and his sister. Kingallis shook his head 
angrily. 

“So you gave him the record,” he- said 
flatly. 

Rhinegallis was silent. It was obvious to 
Carroll that there had been accusal and 
denial previously but that his instant recog- 
nition of the alien word had been perfect 
evidence. Carroll sailed in instantly. 

“She’s given me nothing,” he said sharply. 
“I just happen to be curious.” 

Kingallis turned from his sister to face 
Carroll. 

“That is a bald-faced lie,” he said. 
Carroll’s reply was in the alien tongue, a 
rather harsh alien platitude pertaining to the 
fact that a guilty man always requires a 
sucker to account for his own mistakes, 
'vhereas an honest man can admit an error. 

Kingallis sneered and his eyes became 
glittery-hard. 



“She gave it to you,” he said. “This I 
know.” He pointed to the minute temple- 
electrode — flesh-colored — and the spider-web 
thin wire that ran to the flat bulge in his coat 
pocket. 

“So?” snapped Carroll. He measured 
Kingallis deliberately. The alien had a few 
years to give away, but Carroll had a few 
pounds to make up the difference. Also 
Carroll, being slightly older, was more of a 
competent judge of men. 

Though this was not a man-to-man affair 
Carroll’s judgment of the alien might ’oe 
better than the alien’s judgment of him. 
Furthermore Carroll knew himself to be 
cool-headed and alert. 

“So Rhine has defied our rules,” snapped 
Kingallis. 

“And?” inquired Carroll overpolitely. 

“Crime — and punishment! She has en- 
dangered our very future!” 

Carroll smiled. “Seems to me that you 
have spent a number of years endangering 
the future of Sol’s children.” he said cyn- 
ically. “Perhaps it is time to switch?” 

Rhinegallis stood up. “I have as much 
right as you,” she snapped at her brother. 
“My position is as high ‘as yours. Carroll 
discovered that he was being tricked. There- 
fore there was nothing else to do but to 
regain his confidence.” 

“Seems to me that Carroll’s discovery was 
entirely due to your inability to cope with 
him.” snapped Kingallis angrily. 

Rhinegallis laughed bitterly. “When will 
you learn,” she asked sarcastically, “never 
to ti'y to play games with your mental 
superiors?” 

Kingallis fumed, “Shut up!” and, turning, 
back-handed Rhine across the mouth. The 
girl retreated, her hand to her face, covering 
the patch that was swiftly growing red. 
Kingallis followed her across the floor. 

Carroll followed Kingallis. He caught the 
alien by one shoulder and whirled Kingallis, 
spinning him off balance. As the alien turned, 
Carroll’s fist came across in a short jab that 
had every pound of weight and every erg of 
muscle energy behind it. He connected and 
it sent Kingallis reeling crazily across the 
room. 

Carroll foUow^ed, warily. KingaUis recov- 
ered and struck out at Carroll, but his mode 
of fighting was untrained from Terran stand- 
ards. Carroll opened his right hand and 
chopped viciously at KingaUis’s throat, but 
caught the alien’s arm instead. 



THE KINGDOM 

T he alien yipped from the pain and 
Carroll followed him close and brought 
his fist up from under and caught the alien 
in the pit of the stomach. Kingallis folded 
, over the blow and then unfolded in a series 
of retching gasps^ his arms and legs working 
to bring him air. 

Carroll lifted his foot. He drove it forward, 
heel-hard, against the -alien’s temple. The 
blow crushed the temple electrode into the 
skull as Kingallis went inert upon the floor. 
“Come!” snapped Carroll. 

“Come? Where?” 

“Out of here!” 

“But—?” 

“Come along. You don’t want to wait for 
the rest, do you?” 

Rhinegallis took a quick look at her 
brother’s inert form. 

“Is he ?” 

Carroll grunted. “I’m not interested,” he 
said. “Come on — you’ve got to show me the 
way out!” 

“But I can’t do that!” 

Carroll advanced upon her. He caught her 
arm and brought it up behind her. He lifted 
gently. 

“Now,” he said, “you’re going to show me 
the way out of here or I’ll twist this off, see?” 
“But I mustn’t,” she said. . 

Carroll smiled sourly. 

“Rhine,” he said pointedly, “you’ve lost 
your home right now. From here on in you 
are on the outside of your camp. Your best 
bet is to throw in with me and at least stay 
alive.” 

“I’ll never help you.” 

“Fair enough,” he said. “For I didn’t help 
you. But this will let you know that Terrans 
have an attitude known as ‘gratitude’ which 
to your alien concept is both foolhardy and 



OF THE BLIND 33 

decadent. But no Terran, no matter how 
much he hated his enemy, would abandon 
to them one of their own that gave him help. 
We protect our friends, Rhine.” 

“Then we must hurry,” she breathed. 
“But where can we go?” 

“Where?” he echoed cheerfully. “We’ve 
got the whole world before us!” 

“But you must hide as well,” she said 
simply. “Because my friends will be seeking 
you in earnest, now.” 

Carroll nodded as he caught the implica- 
tion. “I shall return to my friends,” he 
stated flatly, “when I have evidence enough 
to prove myself. 'Then your people can go 
ahead and kill me if they can — but my world 
will be protected. Until I can convince them, 
I am the slender reed upon which depends 
the future of Sol. And,” he added bitterly, 
“against what?” 

“That I will never tell you,” she said. “But 
we must hurry!” 

It was five days later that Carroll’s road- 
ster — stolen from the alien’s garage — arrived 
before a summer home in Wisconsin. Twenty 
miles from the nearest town of consequence 
it was set in a woodsy area near one of many 
small lakes. 

“Here,” he said happily, “we can hide — 
and we can live — and we can work!” 

OLLARD slowly shook hands. 

“Carroll again?” asked Majors. 

The psychologist nodded wearily. “For 
some time he has been working quietly, 
though with deep preoccupation, which I 
suppose is normal. Whether he has been 
pondering over the absence of that black 
limousine and its mythically inimical occu- 
pants, I cannot say.” 

[Turn page] 




Many Never Suspect 

Cause of Backaches 

This Old Treatment Often Brings Happy Relief 



Many sarerer s relieve nagging backache quickly, 
once they d ac crref that the real cause of their 
trouble may be tired kidneys. 

The kidneys are Nature’s chief way of taking the 
excess acids and Taste out of the blood. They help 
most people pis& abcjut 3 pints a day. 

When disorder of kidney function permits poi- 
sonous matter to remain in your blood, it may 
cause nagirtg backache, rheumatic pains, leg 
pains. Ion of pep and energy, getting up nights, 



swelling, puffiness under the eyes, headaches 
and dizziness. Frequent or scanty passages 
with smarting and burning sometimes shows 
there is something wrong with your kidneys or 
bladder. 

Don’t wait! Ask your druggist for Doan’s Pills, 
a stimulant diuretic, used successfully by millions 
for over 50 years. Doan’s give happy relief and will 
help the 15 miles of kidney tubes flush out poison- 
ous waste from your blood. Get Doan*s Pills, r Adtt. t 



34 STARTLING STORIES 



“But what happened this time?” 

“He has disappeared!” 

Majors blinked. “Just like that?” 

Dr. Pollard smiled and nodded. “Just like 
that!” 

Majors thought for a moment. “We can 
locate him,” he said uncertainly. 

“No,” Pollard said finally. “That will not 
do. The chances are very high that Carroll 
may have gone to his summer home.” 
“Well, let’s find out.” 

“Let him alone. You underestimate the 
cleverness of the paranoid. He will detect 
any surveillance. It is my contention that 
Carroll may have had a glimmer of lucidity — 
that he may have been partially convinced 
of his error. 

“Majors, there is only one way to cure a 
paranoid and that is to let him cure himself. 
Once his own evidence shows the truth, then 
he will believe. But until that time, all evi- 
dence either supports his theory or it is a 
canard produced by those who want to show 
him wrong.” 

“So?” 

“So let him be. He can do little harm. In 
the case of the normal paranoid harboring 
a persecution complex, it is something tan- 
gible against him — wife, neighbor or friend. 
In that case it is best to do something quickly 
to protect the innocent. But in Carroll’s 
case it is an intangible — remember the case, 
Majors?” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, it hasn’t changed a bit. Carroll 
undoubtedly discovered something that his 
mind refuses to recognize. Therefore this 
hallucination of the inimical race that is 
barring Terra from progress. 

“What Terra needs more than the man 
himself is to know what Carroll discovered. 
I don’t know what he’s doing nor where he’s 
doing it, but we’ll find out — and we’ll let him 
alone.” 

“Sort of futile, isn’t it?” asked Majors. 
“It’s soul-scarringly futile,” said Pollard 
hopelessly. “He v/ill resent any outside help 
that does not eagerly agree with him — and 
then suspect it of chiding tolerance. He can 
come back only of his own machination. But 
to probe further at him will drive him only 
deeper within himself.” 

Majors nodded. “We’ll get young Sally 
back on the delivery job. At least until 
James Forrest Carroll reappears again.” 

Dr. Pollard nodded absently. “And may 
whatever he is doing bring him to reason!” 



James Forrest Carroll sat on a tall stool in 
front of a workbench in the cellar of the 
summer home. Before him was a maze of 
equipment, a pile of written notes and some 
haywire circuits. He was smoking furiously 
to the amusement of the girl who sat reading 
in the single easy chair in the cellar. Finally 
she put down her book and looked up a: him. 

“Why did you accuse me of laying eggs?” 
she asked. 

Carroll turned with a smile. “A she: in 
the dark,” he said. 

“It’s not true,” she said. “I’m no — ” 

Carroll shrugged. “Anthi-opomorpbhsrs 
have spent a lot of time showing that the 
humanoid form is best adapted to house in- 
telligence,” he said. “The upright carriage, 
the evolution of the forelegs into facile hands, 
the placement of the sensory-system in close 
locale to aid one another. 

“The opposing thumb and the ability to 
lift either a sheet of cigarette paper from the 
floor or a small anvil from its rest. More and 
deeper-involved reasons can flow than you 
can think about.” 

“Which may all be true.” she said pointed- 
ly, taking a cigarette from the package and 
lighting it deftly. She stood up then and 
rotated swiftly so that her skirt swung out. 

“It may all be true,” he said. “But not 
necessarily a matter of exclusive truth. 
There may be a batch of intelligent octopi 
and I’ll bet that they have ah — er — octopo- 
morphists — sitting around telling the little 
octopi that their shape is best adapted to 
house intelligence.” 

“All of which answers no question,” she 
told him with a smile. 

“So you have a humanoid shape to a re- 
markable degree. This shape is enhanced by 
the Terran clothing and the Terran cosmetics 
and, I might add, the Terran surroundings.” 

“Do go on,” she said with grim humor. 

“Your metabolism is not too different.” he 
observed. “At least your digestive system is 
about as unselective as the Terran. Tnat is 
normal for any reigning race of a system. 
Undoubtedly you do have a close approxi- 
mation of the molecular structure, since I 
know that . your planet is very much like 
Terra. 

“Unfortunately I am not as deeply versed 
in organic chemistry as I might be or I’d be 
able to make a few tests. But, Rhine, the 
idea that two races in the galaxy being so 
similar in every wa3' that they are cross- 
fertile is preposterous!” 



m 



THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND 



’’Eternity,” said Rhinegallis with a mur- 
mur, ‘Is that length of time necessary to 
permit everything to happen at least once.” 
Carroll grinned. “And that will be the last 
probability — and furthermore eternity will 
De sitting on its fundament for ten thousand 
galactic years after everything else has hap- 
pened waiting for that little item to show up 
SO It — eternity — can fold up and go home!” 

MHJ!! turned away from her and ad- 
MS. dressed himself to the equipment 
again. He worked at it for an hour and then 
turned to her with a cryptic smile. 

“You’re a rather dangerous responsibility,” 
he said. 

“I know but it was your idea.” 

“What bothers me,” he said thoughtfully, 
"Is whether you will hinder in the end. You 
will not help now. But will you give me 
trouble later on?” 

“I don’t understend.” 

Carroll thought for a moment before an- 
swering. And when he did, it was on another 
subject. 

• “I need more information,” he said. 

“But why might I hinder?” 

Carroll smiled widely. “If you don’t know,” 
he said, “Til not be the one to suggest it. 
But I need Information.” 

“Don’t ask me to get it for you.” 

“I won’t. I have little need. I can get it 
myself!” he said with a deliberate show of 
Independence. 

Rhinegallis looked at him steadily. She 
nodded. “I’m going too,” she said. 

“No — and why if you deny me help?” 
“Because you aided me.” 

He shook his head. “That was because you 
were in trouble for having aided me.” 

“I aided you in the first place because 
you deserved it,” she said softly. “And it 
does not negate my debt.” 

“But what do you hope to accomplish? Do 
you hope to trap me?” 

“No.” 

“Rhine.” he said, standing up and stretch- 
ing, “you do not really understand Terrans. 
Remember this — I took you out of that con- 
centration camp because I needed your aid 
In getting free— the guards, the garage at- 
tendant, to say nothing of the way home. 

“I took you along because you were in 
danger — because of helping me, regardless 
of your reasons. Therefore I shall see that 
you are protected — now, against your own 



race — liter against mine.” 

“Later?” 

“After I unravel this mad pattern.” 

“You always insist upon some mad pat- 
tern,” she smiled. “Really, it is very simple.” 
He looked at her angrily. “Just ignore it 
and maybe it will leave, huh? Bosh!” 
“You can do very little against a phantom,” 
she said. 

“And therein lie my feelings,” he said 
harshly. “This is more than honor, more 
than life itself. I’d have little compunction 
against killing you if it meant that the truth 
were to be known.” 

Rhinegallis shrugged. Her life was forfeit 
anyway after the run-in with her brother. 

“But you said something about wanting 
more information?” 

He nodded. “I’m no doctor,” he said. “And 
my knowledge of the finer points of bio- 
chemistry is sadly lacking.” 

“You—” 

“I intend to find some way of telling you 
aliens from humans,” he said quickly. “There 
must be some way.” 

She smiled tolerantly though there was a 
question in her eyes. 

“I intend to see that you have a most 
thorough medical examina ion,” he told her. 
“There must be visible differences which 
can be told once they are known. Differences 
which” — and he nodded at her very human 
figure with its soft curves — “cannot be sim- 
ulated by artificial means.” 

She chuckled. “Even though many of the 
means of wearing a desirable figure have 
been invented and used by human beings 
for many years? Don't blame me for that, 
Carroll. My figure is mine own.” 

“Then,” he said in a hard tone, “let me 
see!” 

“Call me what you will but I have a nor- 
mal modesty.” 

He frowned scornfully. “Have you forgot- 
ten that we are of entirely different evolu- 
tions?” 

Rhinegallis smiled coyly. “You forget,” 
sho said, “that to all intents and purposes 
I am a human being. You nor anyone else 
will ever get me to say or prove that I am 
not. That includes acting like one too.” 
“Let it pass.” he said. “My judgment might 
be faulty. There are excellent doctors, 
however. If you claim that you intend to 
act as human as you can you’ll have no ob- 
jection to visiting a doctor.” 

“Not when necessary,” she replied calmly. 



36 STARTUNG STORIES 



“But remember, I told you that I would give 
you no information that would tend to 
harm.” 

“And I’ve told you that when I have evi- 
dence that tends to show my correctness I 
shall not ask for help — I shall take it!” 



CHAPTER VIII 
Matter Transmission 



SING his knowledge of the alien tongue 
and coupling it to many of the so- 
called “harmless” records he had been per- 
mitted to toy with, Carroll found his work 
much simpler. There was that business of 
the circlet of wire mounted on the cylindrical 
podium in which vibrated a crystal. 

He had a whole measure of that science, 
most of which, he admitted, wsus ridiculous, 
and meaningless to any Terran physicist \m- 
less he had the key to the art. A complete 
volume on electronic techniques would be 
meaningless to any man who knew nothing 
of electricity. 

Most texts are written with considerable 
elision — electronics texts, for instance, show 
many circuits but seldom are they entirely 
complete. They omit the driving force — the 
source of energizing electricity, the filament 
supply, and other items which are unneces- 
sary to the trained man. 

Since many such items may be ambiguous 
it makes no difference whether the plate 
voltage is developed by batteries, rectifier- 
filter supplies, generators or a vibrator-pack 
that develops high voltage from a six-volt 
battery. It is sensible to omit them and 
merely label the “input” terminal with a 
symbol. 

But couple a text with a complete knowl- 
edge of the language, especially a dictionary 
that is complete in its scientific sense, and 
you learn of batteries, voltage, generators 
and the like. You discover that an electron 
tube has this and that and perhaps why. 
Using a good sensible knowledge of physics 
plus ingenuity the science becomes less 
puzzling. 

Similarly James Forrest Carroll was able 
to reproduce the science of the aliens. 

All of this took time, of course — weeks. 
Weeks of testing and trying and fumbling. 
As Volta might be baffled by a common 



transformer where, though the input is 
shorted together through loops of wire and 
the output is similarly shorted, yet there is 
transfer of energy, so Carroll was baffled by 
the strange and bizarre thing that grew in 
the cellar of his Wisconsin home. 

It was a large circular loop of silver- 
plated copper tubing. It was mounted on a 
cylindrical slug of high-permeability alloy 
which was magnetized to a high charge. 
The crystal was common enough but its 
connection made little sense from the Terran 
point of view. The Ancients used to use 
crystals for jewelry and would have been 
bewildered at the modern idea of cutting 
them in slabs to make standards of fre- 
quency. 

Finally he surveyed his work with a satis- 
fied smile. He snapped it on and a shining 
plane of totally reflecting energy filled flie 
circular loop of wire. 

“It isn’t Lewis,” he said. “It’s James 
Forrest Carroll Through The Looking Glass!” 
Rhlnegallis shook her head. ‘"The proper 
title is ‘Alice 'Through ’The Looking Glass',” 
she told him. 

“You have a rather extensive Terran ed- 
ucation,” he observed. 

“Would any Terran be without an educa- 
tion?” she countered. 

“Doubtless far superior to any normal 
person,” he grunted, “thanks to that mental 
educating dingus of yours.” 

“And partly due to hard work,” she said. 
“Give me some credit.” 

He smiled wanly. Then he snapped the 
instrument on and off and looked at the 
perfect plane with interest. 

“Wonder if it might be possible to warp 
it into a perfect parabola,” he said thought- 
fully. 

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, “but it 
would make a fine telescope, wouldn't it?” 
“Whole gear weighs about five pwunds.” 
He grinned. “’The thousand-inch mirror 
would be a definite practicality. What we 
couldn’t see with that!” 

“Might as well go,” she said humorously. 
“You’re like the man who discovered motive 
power and then used it to yell over great 
distances with instead of going there.” 

“So far,” he said seriously, “there’s little 
to be gained by this gimmick. I’m like the 
first man on earth to own a telephone. I’ve 
no one to talk to.” 

“But tell me, what did he do?” 

Carroll smiled in a superior fashion. “What 




TftE KINGDOM OP f HE BLIND S’? 



I’m going to do to try this out,” he said. 
"I’m going elsewhere with a second model 
and establish my own line of communication. 

“So far as I know the only other ones are 
in the hands of your people — and normal, 
happy, serious-minded folk seldom call their 
enemies on the telephone to pass the time 
of day. So, Rhine, if you’ll stay here — ” 

“I’ve no place to go,” she told him. ‘Til 
stay. You’ll not be long?” 

“I’ve got to build it first,” he said. “I’ve 
got the parts here but it’s not assembled.” 

“But—” 

“It’s ‘tinkertoy’ fashion in a suitcase,” he 
said. “I obviouSy can’t carry a six-foot 
circle of half-inch copper tubing fastened to 
a podium of heavy metal through the streets 
of Ladysmith without trouble. I’m leaving 
tonight, Rhine. You wait for me here.” 

“I’ll wait,” she said with-a smile. 

OCTOR POLLARD blinked when Miss 
Farragut announced James Forrest 
Carroll. 

“By aU means,” he said, and then sat back 
to see what Carroll had to offer. 

Carroll came to the point at once. “I have 
proof,” he said. 

"You have proof,” smiled Pollard, “but 
you leave too many holes in the matrix.” 

"Meaning?” asked Carroll. 

“From time to time,” replied Pollard, “men 
have come forw'ard with the idea that all Sol 
is being guarded or watched or kept sup- 
pre.s.sed by some alien culture. Charles Fort 
said ‘Maybe we’re Property!’ and others have 
had the same idea. 

“This alien culture always is superior of 
mind and body and capable of furthering any 
evidence to dispute its being. 'The discov- 
erer is hunted down and chased but usually 
eludes the aliens long enough before he is 
caught to tell the world about it. 

“Now,” continued the doctor, “aside from 
the fact that all stories must have some sort 
of sensible ending your tale misses one vital 
point that all such tales seem to. 

‘"That is just the simple fact that these 
omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent be- 
ings who have kept the world in ignorance 
for twenty thousand years have not the in- 
telligence to slay the single discoverer!” 

Carroll smiled. “I was not slain because 
I was useful to them. I’ve spent weeks with 
them.” 

Carroll spent the next hour telling Dr. 
PoUard of his experiences among the aliens. 



He omitted only the truth about Rhine- 
gallis. 

Pollard’s comment in his own shorthand 
was, “Perfect self-justification.” 

“Now,” said Carroll. “May I show you 
something that I’ve stolen from them?” 

“Of course.” 

Carroll opened his suitcase and set the 
metal podium on the floor. He unrolled the 
length of silver-plated copper tubing and 
shaped it into a circle. He fastened the ter- 
minals to the podium with thumbscrews. 
Then he snapped the switch and the shim- 
mering plane appeared. 

“Wonderful,” said Pollard hollowly. “But 
what is it?” 

Carroll smiled. “You are a hard man to 
convince,” he said. “But now that I have 
shown you this, I shall show you one of 
them!” 

Carroll stepped into the shimmering plane 
and disappeared. 

P OLLARD gave a cry of fright and raced 
aroimd to the other side of the plane 
but Carroll had gone. ’Then he shrank from 
the thing; it was as though the shimmering 
plane of perfect mirror was beckoning to 
him. And for one of the few times in his 
life. Dr. Pollard knew and recognized a 
psychopathic fear of the Unknown. 

Carroll, however, knew the facts. H^ 
stepped into the basement of his home with 
the same motion that had carried him over 
the podium into the mirror in Pollard’s 
office. 

“Now,” he told Rhinegallis, “I’m taking 
Dr. Pollard a live specimen!” 

He grabbed Rhinegallis by the wrist and 
dragged her through the mirror into Pollard’s 
office again. 

“Here,” he said, “is Rhinegallis, one of 
the inimical aliens.” 

Pollard was dumbfounded. 

Carroll hurled the girl at Pollard. “I want 
as complete a medical examination as you 
can give,” he said. “Obviously if she and her 
race evolved on some distant stellar system, 
she can not be more than humanoid. Fol- 
low?” 

PoUard nodded. He faced the girl uncer- 
tainly and said, “Do you mind?” 
RhinegaUis blazed. 

“Of course I mind,” she snapped, eyes 
flashing. 

Carroll seated himself indolently on Pol- 
lard’s desk. “If you are really alien,” he 




38 STARTUNG STORIES 



observed ironically, “you will most heartily 
object!” 

“Fm Terran,” she insisted. 

“Then why cavil at proving it?” he urged. 

“I don’t have to!” 

“I’m afraid you do,” he said. “Fact of the 
matter is I’m still holding a rather high 
position in the Lawson Laboratory. I can — 
and will — order Dr. Pollard to do it!” 

Rhinegallis faced the doctor. “I’ll not have 
it.” 

Carroll spread his hands out in a self- 
satisfied gesture. “Q.E.D.,” he said. “Aliens 
will object. True Terrans have nothing to 
fear.” 

Rhinegallis turned upon him angrily. “How 
about you?” she snapped. “Are you willing 
to have yourself examined?” 

“Dr. Pollard knows me,” he said simply. 
“There is no reason for me to go through 
with this.” 

“I have friends.” 

“Aliens!” He turned to Pollard. “You 
have always disbelieved me,” he said. “Had 
I brought you here by any other means Pol- 
lard would have believed that there was 
nothing to my tale and would have given 
you at the most a very superficial examin- 
ation. 

“However, after bringing you through the 
teleport, he is amazed enough to wonder. 
Pollard, I charge you. Give her as complete 
an examination as is within your ability and 
power!” 

Pollard turned to Rhinegallis and asked 
her name. 

“I am Rita Galloway,” she said. “And I’m 
Terran!” 

“Normally,” he said with a half-smile, “no 
one is expected to go through such an out- 
rageous thing. But do you really mind?” 

Rhinegallis paused. “Not really; I have 
nothing to hide. But like all people I resent 
any invasion of my privacy. The Constitu- 
tion stipulates that such shall not be done 
except with just cause. Not that an innocent 
man has anything to fear. It is just protection 
for the integrity of the individual. However, 
if you insist.” 

“Thank you,” said Pollard. “Into this 
office, please.” 

Carroll followed. 

“Not you,” snapped Pollard. 

“I’m watching,” Carroll insisted. 

“Look,” said Pollard testily, “you may 
give orders to have things done that I do not 
approve of but you have no right to tell me 



how to run my life. We’ll have none of it!” 
“But—” 

“Want it done?” demanded Pollard. 

“Look, Carroll, you can’t fire me. You may 
still hold a responsible position but it is an 
honorary status. Now, if you want me to go 
ahead, just sit quietly and wait!” 

“I’ll wait,” said Carroll. 

T hree hours later, Pollard emerged from 
the inner office with several sheets of 
paper. “She is of Anglo-Russlan origin and 
shows the racial characteristics of that mix- 
ture. 

“Her blood-type is Type 'Three, Rh Nega- 
tive, Sub-classification three-GH. Temper- 
ature, blood-pressure, and heart normal save 
for a slight murmur. Saliva test perfection 
Itself. Blood count slightly low — normal 
enough and not near anemia. 

“She is, physically, biologically, and emo- 
tionally, a specimen of excellent health, fe- 
male, age twenty four years. Appendix 
removed five years-odd ago. Unmarried. 
Spent some time in the tropics but is naturally 
light complected.” 

Pollard shuffled the papers as Rhinegallis 
entered the room. 

“In the interim,” he continued, “I’ve had 
her checked on. The Bureau of Identification 
confirms her fingerprints and physical char- 
acteristics, Social Security Number and blood 
type. Photo checks despite several years 
interim. 

“Born in Indiana, raised in Chicago on 
Drexel Avenue. Schooled primarily in Chi- 
cago, left college after three years. Father 
and mother deceased. Now,” he said angrily, 
“is there anything more you need?” 

Carroll blinked. “I should have guessed,” 
he replied very slowly. 

“Guessed? Guessed what?" 

Carroll nodded slowly. “Doctor, forgetting 
the present situation, what is your opinion 
on the evolution of an extra-solar race?” 
“I’ll try to forget the present idea,” replied 
the doctor, “and tell you that so far as I can 
judge, it would be utterly impossible for any 
race not our own to have more than a very 
few superficial items of resemblance to the 
human. More than likely they would evolve 
in an entirely different shape, though very 
necessarily functional.” 

Carroll nodded. “How about brain sur- 
gery?” 

“What about it?” 



THE KINGDOM 

Carroll shunned the doctor at that point. 
He faced Rhinegallis with a bitter smile. 
“So you have Terran characteristics. And 
your offer of affection might have been 
honest — despite the alien brain inside your 
skull!” 

Rhinegallis gasped. “You accuse me of — ” 
“Well, there must be some logic in it!” 



CHAPTER IX 
Court Is Dismissed 



I NSISTENTLY the communicator on Pol- 
lard’s desk buzzed and Miss Farragut 
called him. The doctor excused himself and 
left them alone. 

“There must be proof,” insisted Carroll. 
“There has been plenty of it,” she told him. 
“There’s one thing that your alien brain in 
a human body will not do,” he said. “The 
rest can be managed. You can falsify records 
— perhaps you were a natural child of Terran 
parents — Terran parents with alien brains — 
as yours is now. I don’t know but I’U find 
out.” 

“How?” 

“Pollard’s psychiatric notes,” he said ex- 
plosively. He headed for the examination 
room and looked around. There, behind the 
door, was a pile of papers on a small table. 
To get at them Carroll nudged the door shut. 
It went closed with a faint thud. 

Almost instantly afterwards there came the 
sounds of many feet in the other room. 

Rhinegallis screamed something out of 
fright and peril. There were the sounds of 
a scuffle, after which came. . . . Silence! 

Carroll hurled the door open and raced 
across Pollard’s office toward the teleport. 
As he reached there he saw the last traces of 
Rhinegallis’s feet being dragged over the 
bottom of the wire circle into the mirror. 
With a cry of anger, Carroll hurled himself 
into the teleport just as the office door burst 
open to admit Pollard and Majors. 

Carroll’s return passage through the tele- 
port was rough. He bumped someone and his 
force sent them sprawling. Then he was 
thi'ough and facing Kingallis, who was still 
reeling backwards. 

Carroll plunged forward and caught Kin- 
gallis by the throat. The alien twisted out 
of Carroll’s grasp and fought back. Carroll 
hit him hard and followed it with an insane 



OF THE BLIND S9 

rush that carried them to the far end of the 
cellar, where Kingallis tripped on a small 
box and went down with Carroll on top. 
Carroll rapped the alien’s head against the 
concrete floor and stunned him. 

Kingallis returned almost instantly. 
Carroll looked down in his face and 
snarled, “Now — ^why?” 

“Why?” asked the alien defiantly. 

“Yes — ^why? Why is all this going on?” 
“The unive?;se is not big enough to hold us 
both,” snapped Kingallis. 

“Then it is true. You and your people 
have been suppressing our research because 
you fear that we will be able to beat you. 
And we will, Kingallis. We will!” 

“You won’t live long enough,” snarled 
the alien. 

Carroll’s mind worked rapidly. If nothing 
else, he had now discovered the truth of why. 
The alien culture wanted universal conquest. 
To gain it, they were suppressing all research 
on the Lawson Radiation, which was their 
main hope for victory. Instead of fighting 
to suppress it, they had found it much easier 
to weasel their way in and fake a report 
here and line there with a mere handful of 
men. No science could advance when true 
discoveries were reported as failures and 
false data were supplied to send the investi- 
gators along blind trails. 

But now there was real danger. Since 
Terra was cognizant of the peril Terra would 
be destroyed. Destroyed or conquered early 
— the aliens not waiting for the normal de- 
velopment of their plans of expansion. 

Carroll looked around for something to 
tie Kingallis with. And he saw— 

Rhinegallis, supine upon the floor, a wide 
thick strap constricting her ribs. Her eyes 
were closed. The pulse in her shapely throat 
was fluttering weakly. 

“You swine!” said Carroll. 

Kingallis threw him off, leaped to his feet 
and raced for the teleport disc. He plunged 
through as Carroll dropped to the floor on 
one knee and started to fumble at the heavy 
strap. 

M e tore his fingers and he cursed, and 
he looked wildly for something to cut 
the thing with. His eyes caught the ttnsnips 
on the bench and he arose to get them as 
Pollard came through the teleport. 

Back in Pollard’s office the psychologist 
looked at the perfection of the silvery plane 
and shuddered mentally. Then he said, “I 



40 STARTLING STORIES 



don’t know what’s up. but I’m going — 
through!” 

Majors nodded. He had not seen Carroll 
using the thing at all. His mind was baffled 
but not psychopathically afraid of any gadget 
that made men disappear so quickly. 

Pollard stepped gingerly into the circle and 
came through. It was like walking through 
a ring. There was neither pain nor strain nor 
feeling. He might have been stepping over 
a slight, wide sill. Then he was looking 
down at Carroll, who was fumbling at the 
strap. Carroll cut it through as Pollard knelt 
beside the girl. 

Then as Pollard made an instant check of 
the girl’s heart and sighed with relief, Carroll 
rose and turned on the doctor. 

“Now,” he said, “are you satisfied?” 

“Satisfied?” echoed the doctor. 

“They almost got her!” snarled CarroU. 

“Oh?” 

“The teleport is theirs. They have many of 
them. They were worried about discovery, 
so they came and — ” 

“They did?” asked the doctor sarcastically. 
He turned to Majors. “I was wrong,” he said. 

“Wrong?” 

Pollard nodded sadly. “I believed that 
Carroll would not direct his hate towards 
anything living. I did not anticipate his 
fastening the embodiment of his hallucina- 
tion upon a human being!” 

Carroll turned to Pollard with a glassy 
stare. “Just what do you mean?” he asked in 
a flat voice. 

“That was an attempt at sheer wanton 
murder!” replied the doctor. 

Majors looked down at the girl and his face 
went black with anger. 

“Why,” he said, “that’s Rita Galloway!” 

Pollard looked at Majors. “Who?” 

“Rita Galloway. The head librarian over 
at the Scientific Section of the Foundation 
Library.” 

“She is Rhinegallis of the aliens,” said 
Carroll quickly. 

Pollard shook his head. Majors growled. 
He started to speak and then closed his lips 
tightly. 

“Go ahead,” said Pollard. 

“All right,” snarled Majors. “It was my 
fault!” 

“Your fault?” exploded Pollard. 

“Yes. The day after Carroll took that de- 
livery job from little Sally, he spent the eve- 
ning in the Library looking up some rather 
complex stuff. Miss Galloway was called 



upon quite often, so she said, and came to me 
because she knew we were interested in 
Carroll. 

“Shut up, Carroll, and sit down before I 
kill you! I told her the entire score and she 
said that if Carroll was truly as interested as 
he seemed she was going to ask for a leave 
of absence and see that he was helped. He 
seemed to be interested in her.” 

“Does helping him include running off to 
Wisconsin with him?” asked Pollard. 

“They had words with her brother Kings- 
ton,” said Majors. “Seems that her brother 
was concerned about her reputation, and 
said as much. Carroll made some remark 
about there being little in common between 
them, that no human being would find her 
interesting from a physical standpoint, just 
as she would find any normal relationship 
with any human being completely devoid of 
satisfaction. 

“Kingston Galloway instantly took this to 
be a slur upon his sister’s character and he 
jumped Carroll — also making it quite plain 
that he would stand for no more foolishness. 
Carroll clipped him hard and left, taking Rita 
with him. I got that from Kingston, who was 
out loaded for murder.” 

Pollard nodded. “A complex case of mis- 
directed opinions,” he said with a grim smile. 
“Carroll thoroughly believes that she is 
alien and as such incapable of forming any 
true association with a human. He says so 
and her brother misconstrues his belief into 
an insult to her character.” 

Majors turned on Carroll. “This is a mat- 
ter for the police,” he snapped. “Come 
along!” 

Carroll paused, looking down at the girl. 
Pollard scooped her up across his arms and 
went through the teleport. By the time that 
Carroll and Majors followed Doctor Pollard 
was working over the girl in his laboratory. 

Carroll shrugged. “If he fails.” he said, 
indicating Pollard, “we might be able to hold 
an autopsy.” 

Majors turned away, sick at heart. 

A ttorney BARNETT rose impressive- 
ly. 

“Your Honor, and Gentlemen of the 
Court,” he said. “We do not deny the allega- 
tion. We wish to point out, however, that 
despite my client’s state of mind he has and 
will be of continued value to civilization. 

“Incarceration in a penitentiary will not 
permit him to continue his research. He 



THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND 41 



should be permitted this outlet. Therefore, 
for my first witness I call Doctor Harold Pol- 
lard.” 

Pollard was put through the legal ritual 
and took the stand. 

“Pollard, what happened to James Forrest 
Carroll?” 

Pollard cleared his throat. “James For- 
rest Carroll followed the pattern of several 
of the top physicists working on the Lawson 
Radiation,” he said. “May I express a perti- 
nent opinion?” 

“Objection!” shouted prosecution. 

Judge Hawley frowned. “Is the opinion 
based on the crime?” 

“No, your honor. It is pertinent to all such 
cases.” 

“Objection overruled.” 

“May I take exception?” asked Frank 
Barre, the State’s Attorney. 

“Let us examine the personal opinion 
first,” replied the judge. 

Pollard nodded. “It has been the opinion 
of the men at the Lawson Laboratory that all 
of these men have discovered something that 
has driven them into amnesia. Amnesia, you 
understand, is the mind’s withdrawal from a 
distasteful reality. 

“Of all of them, however, Carroll is the 
only one who has shown a sign of recovery 
from a state of complete amnesia pertaining 
to his work. Carroll returned with an hal- 
lucination of a strange alien culture at work 
to suppress any research.” 

“I want to establish Doctor Pollard’s 
reputation and ability as a physician, surgeon, 
and practising psychiatrist,” said Barnett. 

Frank Barre stood up. “Waived,” he said. 
“Prosecution agrees that Doctor Pollard’s 
training and position are impeccable.” 

“Thank you,” replied Barnett. “Go on, 



Doctor Pollard.” 

“In usual cases of paranoia the subject de- 
velops a persecution complex. Usually it is 
directed against his fellow man. In Carroll’s 
case this was fastened upon the mythical race 
on another star. 

“Carroll believes the Lawson Radiation to 
be the wasted energy from a space drive 
capable of interstellar travel. This alien race 
is supposed to be suppressing the reseatch 
for a reason not quite clear, though Carroll 
believes — ” 

“Tell us v/hat you know, Doctor Pollard.” 

“As with usual cases Carroll went to great 
pains to produce certified evidence. While 
preparing the so-called facts, Carroll is in a 
state of self-hypnosis — ^hallucination — in 
which he was actually living with the aliens 
and’ stealing their stuff. When he brings his 
evidence forward he attributes it to their 
culture rather than the product of his own 
brilliant mind.” 

“And what do you recommend?” asked 
Barnett. 

“Since the Lawson Radiation v/as the thing 
that caused his downfall in the first place 
whatever he found was important. We may 
have been lax in our efforts to bring Carroll 
‘back’. Yet, we feel that any measure that 
will help us to know what it is — is permissi- 
ble. 

“Even attempts at murder?” 

Pollard shuddered. “Of course not,” he 
said. “I should have said any legal measure.” 

“Thank you,” replied Barnett. “I’ll now 
call James Forrest Carroll. I want the Court 
to hear his own story.” 

“Carroll,” said Barnett, once the man was 
legally installed on the witness stand, “did 
you try to kill Rita Galloway?” 

“No!” [Turn page] 




=<‘The Famous 
Finger Nail Test 

f "It’s F-N, the 
/ test for men!" 
Scratch your head 
— if you find dry- 
ness or loose dan- 
druff you need 
Wildroot Cream- 
Oil. Buy the large 
economy size. 





2 Only a 

root Cream-Oil can 
do a big job for your 
hair. Keeps your hair 
well groomed all day 
long without a trace of 
that greasy, plastered 
down look! Get Wild- 
root Cream-Oil from 
your barber or toilet 
goods counter. 



€REAM-Cfl CHARLIE 
SAYS: "IT CONTAINS 



J And TUNC IN: 

2 NerwokK 
SHOWS I **7h9 
Adventurat of 
Som Spode” Sun. 
• voningS/ CBS 
Network; "King 
Colo Trio Time" 
Sot. oftornoon*/ 
NBC Network. 



42 STABTUNtS Sf OKIES 



“Did you try to kill a woman you knew as 
Rhinegallis?” 

“No!” 

“Then who did tiy to kill her?” 

“Her brother, Klngallis!” 

“Do you see this man in the courtroom 
now?” 

“Yes,” said Carroll pointing to a man at 
the witnesses’s table. “That is Kingallls.” 
“We will show later that the witness 
identified has been known all of his life as 
Kingston Galloway, and is the brother of the 
woman.” Then Barnett faced Carroll again. 
“Do you mind talking about this?” 

C ARROLL shook his head as he said, 
“Not at all. I have been most deeply 
frustrated. Time after time I have produced 
evidence to show the truth of the matter. I 
have gained no one who will believe me.” 
“You say that Kingallis tried to kill his 
sister. Why?” 

“Because she betrayed him by helping 
me.” 

“Your honor, you will recognize the im- 
portance of this statement. It — like so many 
others— is a half truth. It is true and yet the 
implication is not the same. The fact Is, your 
honor, that Carroll actually has reason to 
believe that Kingallis came through the tele- 
port to take revenge. This is part of the hal- 
lucination.” 

He turned again to Carroll. “You claim 
you were held against your will in a build- 
ing in Virginia?” 

“I was.” 

“Then tell me how it was that you were 
seen performing your job during the time 
you claim to have been prisoner — and dis- 
appeared at the time you went to Wisconsin 
with Rita Galloway?” 

Carroll smiled. “By the same explanation 
as the twin Sallys. One, you remember, went 
into the black car so that the men could read 
the day’s reports and fix those that were in- 
formative. The other went into the drug- 
store for a bite to eat in order to fill in the 
interim. There was a man made up to re- 
semble me.” 

“You see, your honor, Carroll believes his 
hallucination Implicitly.” 

“Obviously.” 

Barnett faced Carroll. “Prosecution claims 
that you, yourself, attacked the girl in a 
state of anger because she proved your be- 
liefs wrong — and in hallucinatory hope that 
a complete autopsy would prove you correct.” 



“This is untrue.” 

“Your inventions — ” 

“They are not my inventions. They are 
thefted from the alien llbi'ary.” 

“Carroll, you have a brilliant mind.” 

“I was mentally strong enough to defy 
their thought machines,” replied Carroll. 

“And you have an extensive education in 
physics and science?” 

“I have.” 

“Now tell me, are any of these inventions 
beyond understanding?” 

“Naturally not. They are based upon 
physical laws that are at present unknown on 
Terra.” 

“As — say — electricity was unknown in the 
days of Galileo?” 

“About like that.” 

“Then, Carroll, it might be possible that 
you yourself made these discoveries?” 

“I might have,” admitted Carroll. “But — ” 
“Under a hallucination? To prove to your 
own mind that you were stealing something 
of scientific excellence?” 

“There is the matter of the language.” 
“Irrelevant. It is a tongue no one here 
understands.” 

“Kingallis! Val thes nil kantil res vi pon 
fere. . . .” 

K INGSTON GALLOWAY blinked as 
Carroll tongued his syllables, then 
began to laugh. 

“You see,” said Barnett, “anyone can 
mouth meaningless words and call them a 
language. You can, if you are brilliant, even 
assign meanings to them. Esperanto, among 
others, is a manufactured language.” 

“Yet I claim it true.” 

“What about your own future?” 

. “I care nothing for myself, it is only the 
future of Sol that concerns me.” 

“Your honor,” said Barnett, “There are 
two things I want to say before I close. One 
is that James Forrest Carroll is not sane. 
Therefore he should be committed to an 
institution. The other is that James Forrest 
Carroll, for all of his insanity, is still a bril- 
liant physicist. 

“He knows something about the Lawson 
Radiation that men have gone mad for pre- 
viously, that men have sought for thirty 
years, that time and money has been spent 
for. Therefore, in this institution, James 
Forrest Carroll should be permitted to ex- 
periment at his own will. 

“For if nothing else he will produce many 



THE KINGDOM 

other marvelous things in an effort to prove 
that the science of the aliens is far greater 
than ours.” 

The judge asked Carroll, “You have a 
reason for believing all this?” 

“I know why. The alien culture wants to 
conquer the universe. Becatlse we are very 
close to them in scientific achievement they 
have cause to fear us. 

“The Lawson Radiation is» the spilled 
energy from their interstellar ships and pos- 
session of this secret will permit Terra — or 
any other system — to fight them on their 
own terms, even to beat them back to their 
own system. Therefore they are suppressing 
all research by clever misdirection.” 

“I see. You seem to have an answer to 
every angle,” mused the judge. 

“T^e trouble is,” said Carroll, “that people 
insist upon judging me in accordance with 
their own views — which means that they 
have an answer to my every objection.” 

“In other words,” smiled the judge, “the 
world is wrong and you are right?” 
“Precisely.” 

“You know what is said about such 
people?” 

Carroll smiled. “They said the same thing 
about Galileo, Columbus, the Wright broth- 
ers, Bell, Edison and Marconi,” he said. 

“It is often hard to tell,” said the judge. 
“However, there are some good ways.” 
Carroll faced the judge. “Sentence me,” 
he said in a surly tone. “For only by silencing 
me can you stop me from seeking you out.” 
“Me?” asked the judge in surprise. 

“Either you are Terran and must there- 
fore do everything to help me unravel this 
mad pattern or you are really an alien who 
has succeeded in penetrating to a high place 
in our civilization — and are therefore in- 
terested in seeing that my knowledge of you 
is not given any recognition.” 

“But why — ” 

“It has been said that when the superman 
arrives, he will be well concealed and will 
occupy a high place in the world without 
anybody knowing about it. You may or may 
not be. Yet by your decision you will prove 
it to me!” 

“I see no reason to defend my opinion 
against your attack,” replied the judge. 
“However, in view of the circumstances, I 
hereby direct the jury to return a verdict of 
‘guilty of criminal assault while in an insane 
condition’ and a sentence of committal to an 
institution until such a time as you are pro- 



OF THE BLIND 43 

nounced sane and rational. Court is dis- 
missed!” 



CHAPTER X 
Flight from Asylum 



J AMES FORREST CARROLL was very 
careful in the days that followed. With 
meticulous care he watched those about him 
in the asylum, always wary of showing either 
too much interest or too much neglect. The 
other inmates did not bother him particular- 
ly nor did they irritate him. Not even the 
fact that he was committed to an insane 
asylum caused him to lose heart. 

Carroll cared little for his immediate sur- 
roundings for he knew that once he made 
his point and carried it to the awakened 
Solar System, not only would all of the past 
suspicion be forgotten but he would receive 
an even greater reward for having suffered 
to carry on. 

Then, as the flush of newness wore away, 
the guards and attendants let him alone 
more. All of them were trained in handling 
the insane and they treated each new inmate 
with considerable suspicion until the exact 
nature of the patient’s instability was known. 

Carroll’s main and only argumentative 
period came when he was not permitted to 
work as he pleased. And so long as no one 
mentioned the word ‘alien’ in any way he 
was silent — ^lost in his thoughts and his plans. 

As soon as they furnished him with work- 
ing space, Carroll knew that his incarcera- 
tion was a godsend. For— barring the chance 
that one of the guards might be alien — if he 
could not get out they could not get in. This 
was security. 

The one off-chance worried Carroll. It 
would be hard enough to segregate the few 
humanoid aliens from the mass of humanity. 
But with the aliens occupying human bodies 
it was impossible. Just how it was done 
Carroll could not say but he considered the 
problem and arrived at a solution from sheer 
deductive reasoning. 

It was pathologically impossible to con- 
sider surgery — the gross transplantation of a 
brain. For one thing— among many— there 
is the matter of blood supply. Incorrect blood 
matching causes death in a transfusion. This 
is not because of the mismatch in the blood 
stream per se, it is because the metabolism 



44 STARTLING STORIES 



of the entire human body is not matched to 
the different type of blood. 

To transplant a brain would require that 
something be done about the blood supply — 
if changed to match the brain the body would 
die, if not the brain would die. And there 
was no remote possibility that any alien brain 
would match human blood. 

It is even difficult in many cases to graft 
skin from one part of a human’s body to 
another, let alone grafting skin from one to 
another body — and the possibility of cross- 
grafting across the line of demarcation 
between Terran species was unthinkable. 

Just with common skin. 

The brain? 

Impossible! 

There was, however, the whole matrix of 
mental gadgets, hypnotic beams, educators 
and other gewgaws of the alien culture. The 
old thought patterns could easily be erased 
and replaced by a new system. That would — 
despite theological arguments to the contrary 
— result in a new person. For all beings are 
what their experiences and their training 
makes them. 

A sentience produced in a humanoid body 
on a remote planet and mentally hurled into 
a human brain will change the human to an 
alien in thought and deed— but capable of 
living as a human! There is nothing in 
thought that is mimical as there would be in 
the sheer complexity of biochemistry. 

Thoughts, even nasty vagrant thoughts, do 
not kill. But how large is the lethal dose of 
polio virus or potassium cyanide or un- 
matched blood? 

A n autopsy they might some day 
perform, but unless they could read 
her thoughts, they would find nothing! How 
then to identify the alien? 

Nay! How then to prove that there were 
aliens! 

There were both excitement and suspicion 
when Carroll built the teleport in his asylum 
laboratory. It was too much like incarcer- 
ating a man who had the ability to walk out 
of the place without half-trying. In fact, as 
one of the guards put it, that’s exactly what 
it was. 

It was Majors who smiled and shook his 
head. He pointed out that so far there were 
but two of them, one in the office of the 
psychologist Pollard and the other in the 
¥/isconsin home of the inmate himself. Both 
were turned off. 



Majors, not really understanding the 
principle of the things, had them both placed 
in a sealed room. Whether Carroll could 
turn on an inert machine from a remote 
place he did not know and he was taking no 
chances. 

But Carroll’s experiments with his new 
teleport seemed innocuous enough. For 
several days he fiddled with the tuning and 
synchronizing controls that were used to 
tune one teleport to the other. 

He kept constantly ‘ON’ the switch that 
remotely operated any distant teleport that 
his own happened to be tuned to but his 
work did very little good. He found the two 
that were sealed in the tiny room and knew 
them for what they were. Carroll was seek- 
ing the teleports of the aliens. 

For days he searched the — subspace? — ^for 
the alien teleports and found none. Then in 
a desperate measure, Carroll finally went 
through to the room in the Lawson Labora- 
tory and, using some of his store of tools, 
broke the sealed door. 

Brashly Carroll stole an automobile. 
Equally rash, he drove at breakneck speed 
along the roads that led him up into the 
Virginia mountains along the back-path that 
he had traversed only once before in a con- 
scious condition, and then from the opposite 
direction with Rhinegallis pointing out the 
way. 

It took many hours before he came to the 
little side-road that led like a mountain 
goat’s retreat up into the top hills. It changed 
from a side-road to a mere trail and then 
branched from a mere trail to an unkempt, 
rutted footpatch that jounced the automobile 
terribly. 

Miles along this rocky path, Carroll turned 
into a clearing— a well-remembered clearing, 
and he looked across it — in surprise. The 
building itself was gone! No wonder he could 
find no teleports! 

And the words of Kingallis returned to 
him. “You won’t live long enough!” the 
alien had said. “The universe isn’t big 
enough for both of us!” 

The rats had deserted the doomed ship! 

It was so pat — so perfect! Now they would 
say that there never had been any aliens. 
At every turn Carroll was blocked and 
stopped and frustrated. How long the aliens 
had been guarding Terra he did not know. 
Perhaps about the time that the Lawson 
Radiation was discovered, or perhaps even 
before. 



THE KINGDOM 

No matter how good they were at inter- 
cepting things, the aliens could not keep 
some things from leaking out. They might 
have been here for centuries awaiting the 
man Lawson who was the discoverer. 

They might have been covering informa- 
tion that would have led to the discovery 
until they could no longer stop it. At that 
point in the rise of any culture the discovery 
of such a factor would be almost auto- 
matic. . . . 

Taking any science as a parallel, civiliza- 
tion makes its discoveries as it is ready for 
them. The discovery of radio would have 
been impossible before the knowledge of 
electricity. Nuclear physics would have been 
impossible without a working knowledge of 
simple chemistry. 

Each science stood upon the shoulders of 
the other. Electronics aided astronomy, me- 
chanics aided electronics and chemistry aided 
mechanics. Physics gave men more informa- 
tion about chemistry and chemistry was a 
foundation stone for electronics. 

H OW long that had been here Carroll 
did not care. The pertinent thing at 
present was the simple fact that now they 
were gone! 

Gone because they dared not stay! 

Carroll cursed. It was his fault. What- 
ever was being done to eliminate Terra as a 
threat to the aliens’ ideas of aggrandizement 
was being done because James Forrest Car- 
roll had been instrumental in uncovering 
their schemes. Had he remained in ignor- 
ance there would have been no reason for 
their latest plan — conquest for aggrandize- 
ment does not include extermination. 

To exterminate an enemy spells economic 
failure. There is little glory in being the 
Lord of All when All consists of burned 
planets, dead cultures and the hollow grin- 
ning skulls of a billion billion intelligences. 
Homage comes not from a skull. 

There, in the moonlight of the clearing 
where once stood a large alien edifice. Car- 
roll took from the back seat of his stolen 
car the knocked-down teleport and set it 
up alongside the road. He stepped into it 
and emerged in his asylum laboratory. 

He ignored the fact that both car and tele- 
port were stolen and abandoned. The only 
thing of importance now was the safety — 
the personal safety— of all Terrans, whether 
they believed or not. That he alone had good 
reason to believe in the threat was un- 



OF THE BLIND 45 

important. There have been many cases in 
the world of history when one man alone 
stood against the world and was right. 

Let them scoff. 

Yet Carroll felt the full impact of helpless 
frustration. He was pitted against an alien 
culture capable of scientific marvels such as 
the teleport and interstellar travel and other 
things. They were capable of destroying the 
solar system while the only man who stood 
against them was incapable even of dis- 
covering how they intended to do it. 

He threw himself into his work and the 
days sped past as he built and experimented 
and planned — and all too occasionally failed. 
When his cohorts came to him with the an- 
nouncement that the first sixty-foot para- 
boloid of revolution was to be initiated that 
day at the Lunar Observatory Carroll merely 
nodded and returned to his work. 

He cared not at aU that the new observa- 
tory was to be called the Carroll Observatory 
in honor of the man who made possible the 
perfect reflector. At that time, Carroll was 
busy with his invisible fields of force and 
spacial planes of stress and did not want to 
be bothered with trivia — especially trivia 
that he had really had no hand in inventing. 

A lot of good the Carroll Observatory 
would be to mankind if the Solar System 
were destroyed! 

AJORS entered Dr. Pollard’s office 
L* a with a large glossy photograph in one 
hand. Pollard looked up amusedly as Majors 
said, “I’m getting psycho, I guess.” 

“Yes? And what makes you think so?” 
Majors laughed. “Because every time I 
get a problem I seem to come to you instead 
of going where it can be answered by 
theoreticians and physicists.” 

Pollard smiled. “I think you come here 
because this is one place where you can hold 
your own with another man who can hold 
his own with you,” he observed. 

“Well,” admitted Majors, “you don’t 
understand theoretical physics as well as I do 
and psychology is over my head. Anyway, 
what do you make of this?” 

The photograph was of a patch of sky. 
Pollard shook his head. 

“Is this a test question?” he asked. “Re- 
memher. I’m the psychiatrist and I’m sup- 
posed to hand the patient strange items and 
ask them what they see in them.” 

Majors laughed. “This is a section of 
Bootes.” 



46 STARTLING STORIES 



“Bootees,” murmured Pollard irrelevant- 
ly, “are knitted gadgets you put on babies’ 
feet.” 

“All right, I’ll leave quietly,” chuckled 
Majors. “Seriously, though, look at this.” He 
pointed out a tiny smudge among the my- 
riad of stars. 

“Well?” asked the doctor. 

“It shouldn’t be.” 

“Maybe a flaw?” 

“Nope,” objected Majors. “It persists 
through twenty-seven photographs made one 
minute apart— each exposed for one minute.” 
“Urn. What is it?” 

“Don’t know,” replied Majors. “But it is 
darned interesting.” 

“Bootes is the region from whence comes 
the Lawson Radiation, isn’t it?” 

Majors nodded. “That’s why they sent it 
to me. It was taken by the Carroll Telescope 
on Luna, a sort of tribute to Carroll that the 
first photographs and work done by his in- 
vention be directed at that portion of the sky 
he worked so long on — to his own downfall.” 
“Tell me. Majors, do you often get these 
kind of smudges?” 

“Not this kind but there have been other 
kinds.” 

Dr. Pollard looked at the smudge. “Let’s 
take this to Carroll,” he suggested. “Maybe 
it might mean something to that hidden por- 
tion of his mind that refuses to admit what 
it knows about the Lawson Radiation.” 
“Through the teleport?” 

“Why not? If it’s not available at the other 
end, we’ll just meet a solid mirror and can’t 
step through. That worried me for a long 
time, that idea of not having a place to go to. 
Just step out into — heaven knows what — be- 
cause the other end wasn’t connected. Come 
on!” 

The teleport in Carroll’s asylum laboratory 
gave the physicist warning that they were 
coming through. He turned as they entered 
with an annoyed smile on his face. Before 
him was a long paper record of Lawson 
Radiation recordings that Carroll was study- 
ing through a magnifier. 

Majors handed Carroll the photo, saying, 
“What do you make of this?” 

“It’s a bad blur — like a misfocused image,” 
replied Carroll. 

“Yes — but why?” 

“You’ve heard of the Einstein Lens?” 
“Vaguely, but thought it was just a dream 
— a probability that never happened.” 
Pollard shook his head. “I don’t know 



about it at all,” he admitted. 

Carroll smiled tolerantly. “Light has en- 
ergy and energy has mass,” he said. “Ergo 
light has mass. Masses attract one another 
according to the Newtonian Law of Gravita- 
tion. Ergo light is bent by passing close to a 
mass.” 

“I see,” said Pollard leaping to the right 
conclusion. “Then light radiated from a very 
distant galaxy may pass close enough to a 
dark mass — with Terra, the mass and the 
galaxy in line — to have the distant galaxy 
focus itself here?” 

“Yes,” replied Carroll. “The mass acts as 
a biconvex lens because it bends all tangen- 
tial light toward the center as the beam 
passes.” 

“But the Einstein Lens effect doesn’t make 
smudges like this,” objected Majors. 

Pollard whistled. “You mean to say that 
the Einstein Lens is known to be a fact?” 

“Right. Several cases are known and 
accepted as such!” 

“Well!” 

C ARROLL looked up from the smudge. 

“A negative lens,” he said, “would 
cause diffusion like this.” 

Majors blinked, ‘"rhat would mean — oh, 
no!” 

“Negative matter,” said Carroll promptly. 
“Um. You postulate a negative mass in 
line with the light from a star?” 

Carroll nodded. 

Majors smiled and took out a roll of 
thirty-five millimeter film. He handed it to 
Carroll. 

“I took the liberty of making smaller 
prints,” he said. “Those are the other thirty- 
five pix made near that area. You’ll see the 
initiation of the smudge on the second, and 
the completion of it on the twenty-eighth. 
The others are just spares.” 

Carroll looked at the smudges, one after 
the other. 

“You’ll note that the thirteenth, the 
twentieth, and the twenty-fifth have rather 
larger areas,” said Majors. “Also, on the 
thirty-first — after the body presumably has 
passed out of line — there is one more faint 
flare-point. That was minutes after the thing 
passed out of line.” 

Carroll read the pictures carefully and 
then without a word he turned to the desk. 
He picked up the tape of Lawson Radiation 
recordings and handed it to Majors. 

“Here,” he said, “is correlation between 



THE KINGDOM 

astronomical fact and the Lawson Radia- 
tion.” 

There were four definite pips on the line. 
Four spikes that reached up, with each spike 
labelled as to the time of reception. Though 
the intrinsic time did not match by hours the 
spacing between the pips and the flared 
photographs was perfect. 

“Then what?” asked Majors, and Pollard 
held his breath. 

“A mass of negative matter passing 
through space,” said Carroll, “would natur- 
ally be struck occasionally by meteors or 
small celestial bodies.” 

“But if negative matter is repulsive instead 
of attractive?” objected Majors. 

“Then,” said Cai'roll simply, “the only 
masses that can strike the repulsive celestial 
negative-mass are those other masses that 
possess the velocity that corresponds to the 
velocity of escape in normal mass!” 

Majors looked thoughtful. 

“I get it,” said Majors. “The velocity of 
escape is that velocity attained by any mass 
in falling to the earth from an infinite dis- 
tance. Converted, any mass given that 
velocity upon the instant of departure need 
have no more acceleration applied in order 
that the mass be driven to an infinite dis- 
tance against gravity. Follow?” 

“Uh-huh,” said Pollard. 

“In the case of a repulsive mass — negative 
mass — in order for any, other object to strike 
it it must possess enough energy to over- 
come the repulsion. This would be the in- 
verted equivalent of the velocity of escape!” 
“Negative mass and positive mass would 
cancel one another?” 

Carroll nodded. “Producing the Lawson 
Radiation!" 

“Then all these years we have been follow- 
ing a bit of negative mass getting hit by 
normal meteors.” 

Carroll shook his head. “You check the 
orbit of that mass,” he said, “and you’ll find 
out that it is due to strike Sol!” 

“You know?” 

“I suspect,” said Carroll. “The aliens must 
destroy us lest we destroy them. This is 
their v/ay. We must stop that mass!” 

“Look," said Majors. “Let’s find out the 
course of that celestial object first!” 

“It will be,” said Carroll. 

“Carroll,” objected Majors, “why must you 
insist upon blaming the aliens for something 
that is definitely a matter of celestial 
chance?” 



OF THE BLIND 47 

“Because it is not celestial chance,” 
snapped Carroll. “And I’ll yet prove it!” 



CHAPTER XI 
Prophets of Doom 



K ITA galloway came at PoUard’s re- 
quest, and the doctor told her about 
the new developments. She listened with 
interest, finally nodded with comprehension. 

“So that,” she said, “is what drove him 
mad?” 

Pollard smiled. “Obvious, isn’t it?” 

“Not too obvious to one who is not com- 
pletely informed as to the workings of the 
mind.” 

Pollard smiled again. “Sorry,” he said. 
“I thought it was simple. It may be me, but 
I will try to show you that the mechanics 
of the mind are as logical in madness as in 
sanity — or in plain cause-and-effect me- 
chanical systems. 

“Somehow during his researches in the 
Lawson Radiation he stumbled upon the 
truth. He studied it, not daring to believe 
at first the possibility of a negative mass. 
Yet the facts were there and in some manner 
Carroll managed to develop a system of 
physical mathematics that tended to prove 
his point. 

“I have no doubt, Rita, that if we find any 
tampering with the Lawson Laboratory rec- 
ords, they will have been tampered with by 
Carroll himself, who refused to let this 
bizarre affair be known until he was certain. 

“You see, Carroll knew the storm of pro- 
test that would arise if any physicist tried to 
promulgate such a theory without almost 
certain proof. So he concealed it. But he 
studied it thoroughly. And in his studies he 
discovered that this negative mass was head- 
ing for Terra.” 

Majors cleared his throat. “Tell me. Doctor 
Pollard, how you make these vast assump- 
tions? Aren’t you like the classical definition 
of a physicist? You know, a man of limited 
reason who can leap from an unfounded 
theory to a foregone conclusion?” 

Pollard laughed. “Rita was not there. But 
you were. Did you note how quickly Carroll 
picked out the point? One look at the photo- 
graphs, one look at the ^ awson Record and 
one statement of fact — all tied in to absolute 



48 STARTLING STORIES 



perfection. Carroll knew that his theory was 
terribly thin — also he knew the futility of 
trying to stop a cosmic body approaching 
Terra. The combination drove him into 
hallucination.” 

“Amnesia?” 

“Yes. It all ties in. Every bit.” 

“Go ahead and tie, Doc.” 

Pollard nodded. “His Is a classic form of 
schizophrenia. For his years of study he is 
presented with the knowledge of certain 
destruction. This is terrible to face per se. 
It is terrible to think of one’s self telling the 
world that he has just discovered the first 
true and provable link in the ending of the 
Solar System. It is like uttering the clarion 
of doom. 

“Now remember,” said Pollard, pointing 
off the pertinent spots on his fingers, “that 
Carroll probably tampered with the records 
or at least did not list the truth. Tampered 
with or falsified. That’s point number one. 
Secondly, the true schizophrenic paranoid 
cannot rail against a mechanistic fate. 

“He must find some sentience to fight, 
some evil mind to combat. For the paranoid 
feels that he can win in the end, which of 
course would be impossible against a case of 
mechanistic doom. Therefore Carroll needed 
some sentient manifestation of this doom, 
something that he could strike at, fight 
against. Therefore he has accused an ‘alien 
culture’ of tampering with the records to 
prevent us from knowing the truth. 

“I tried to tell him of many others who 
claimed to have discovered a ‘master-mind’ 
that treated humans as we treat goldfish and 
guinea pigs. I tried to ask him why, if these 
master minds are so omnipotent that they 
can spend fifty thousand years watching an 
experiment in humanity, they were not smart 
enough to do away with the one man in that 
time that might cause them trouble. That’s 
the link that stumbles most Prophets of 
Doom.” 

E PAUSED. 

“But James Forrest Carroll is com- 
pletely self-justified. His explanation was 
simple enough to sound right. He merely 
claimed that, since his mind was sufficiently 
strong to best their ‘hypnosis beams’, they 
kept him alive to study him. You see? He is 
so mighty that they do not dare. True 
paranoia. 

“Now, point three. Carroll is a brilliant 
man with a vast imagination. Yet his train- 



ing as a physicist kept him from trying many 
wild schemes or things that might be against 
the teachings of modern physics. Therefore 
he attributes the many superscientific mar- 
vels to the techniques of the ‘aliens’. In truth 
no Terran physicist would believe them 
possible. The conscious mind rejects the 
idea of the teleport for instance. 

“But there was terrible compulsion. He 
must avert the destruction of Sol. This he 
can do, he believes, by learning much of the 
alien science and turning their own trick 
against them. Things that no sensible phys- 
icist would even consider must be given a 
try in this period of emergency. Therefore 
he went into hallucination in order to invent 
this ‘science’— because his conscious mind 
tells him that it is impossible.” 

“Aren’t you missing the motiyation?” asked 
Majors. 

“Not at all, I just stated it. His subcon- 
scious mind knew that the only way to stop 
this catastrophe was to try the products of an 
untrammelled imagination.” 

“Rather complex, don’t you think?” 

“Not to the mind. It is all self-justification. 
Remember the attack on Rita? Her ribs 
constricted by a heavy leather strap? A 
normal man with the impulse to kill doesn’t 
go to such bizarre lengths. A shot, a stab, a 
bit of poison. 

“Also,” added the psychologist, “it is com- 
mentary on the mind of the paranoid that 
cruel and unusual forms of torture and death 
are uppermost. Since in Carroll’s deluded 
mind this attack was to be used as proof of 
the alien culture, the crime must be made to 
look alien and unearthy. 

“Well,” said Pollard with a deep sigh, “We 
have smoked him out at last. We have un- 
covered the hidden truth in Carroll’s mind. 
Rita, we need you again.” 

“I know,” she said quietly. 

“You forgive him?” 

“Of course,” she said. “And if I did not I 
should cover it. After all, this is no longer a 
matter of men and women and minor hates. 
This is Man against the Universe. And if I 
must sacrifiee myself to see that Sol remains 
I shall, and gladly.” 

“How about your brother?” 

“He hates Carroll. Terribly.” 

Majors grunted. “We’ll take care of him. 
Maybe he’s the real madman in this scram- 
ble.” 

“At any rate,” said PoUard, “we all have 
something tangible to fight, now. Go to him, 




THE KINGDOM 

Rita. You have his confidence, even though 
he believes you to be one of the ‘aliens’.” 

‘‘Go to him?” she asked with a smile, ‘‘I’ll 
not have to. Carroll will come to me.” 

“You seem certain.” 

“You may scoff at feminine intuition,” she 
said with a laugh, “but in some cases it 
works. You see, no matter what Carroll 
thinks of me, he is aware of the fact that I 
am a woman. Meanwhile I’ll merely borrow 
that portable teleport and wait.” 

T he room was dark save for a slight 
streak of yellow moonlight. As the night 
progressed, the streak of moonlight passed 
across the room, illuminating the sleeping 
girl, the dresser, the desk, the teleport, the 
blank wall. 

And in the early morning hours the per- 
fect plane of the teleport flashed briefly to 
admit James Forrest Carroll. Blinking, he 
looked around the darkened room until his 
eyes adapted themselves. Then he made his 
way to the side of the bed. The motion of 
the bed as he sat upon the edge awakened 
the girl, who sat up quietly enough to allay 
Carroll’s fears that she would shriek. 
“Rhine,” he said softly. 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“I need your help.” 

“I know. I’ll give it.” 

“You will?” was his reply. The tone of his 
voice was indefinable. There was mingled 
wonder, and scorn, and suspicion. 

“I will.” 

He laughed sardonically. “Now you’ll 
help,” he said. “Why didn’t you help me 
when they accused me of trying to murder 
you?” 

She shook her head sadly, and reached for 
his hand. He tried to withdraw but she held 
it fast. 

“James,” she said with a note of pleading 
in her voice, “Please believe me. I wanted 
to. But you see, my testimony was worthless. 
All I remember was a blow on the back of 
the head. Blinding lights, roaring sound and 
waves of pain that came and went in cres- 
cendo and diminuendo until I came to in 
Doctor Pollard’s surgery.” 

“They blamed me.” 

“I know,” she said. 

“Perhaps you blamed me too.” His hand 
tightened on hers as though he were silently 
praying for her denial. 

Rhine Ufted her other hand and put its 
palm against his cheek. “James,” she said 



OF THE BLIND m 

softly, “I did not see nor did I hear, but I 
know that whoever it was it was not the 
man who is here tonight.” 

He smiled quietly. “I keep forgetting the 
quality of mind that I am up against,” he 
said. 

“Mind?” 

“Mind — or mentality,” he said. “You see, 
Rhine, parallel evolution is Impossible. So 
is the idea of brain transplantation. Hence 
the only way in which your race can invade 
ours is by mental replacement, invasion, 
control — or by wiping the other brain clean 
and clear and taking over. This leaves you 
an alien mind in a human body.” 

She laughed faintly. “I’ve often told you 
that you nor anybody else would ever get 
evidence to prove that I am not a very hu- 
man person,” she said softly. Her hand upon 
his cheek moved slightly and then slid 
around to the back of his head. She drew 
it forward and met his lips with hers. 

For but a brief instant he resisted. Then 
he yielded as her lips parted beneath his in- 
vitingly. His arms went around her and he 
cradled her close to him and he knew with 
sweet completeness that, alien mind or not, 
there was no question nor doubt about her 
responding to him. 

Minutes later she leaned back in his arms 
and chuckled at him. He grunted a wordless 
demand to explain. 

“Why,” she said, still chuckling, “you’d 
have a terrible time explaining to any one 
of a hundred billion human beings that I am 
utterly alien and that this friendship of ours 
is strictly platonic and developed out of a 
desire for mutual desire for protection 
against our respective races.” 

CarroU looked around. The streak of 
moonlight had moved. It was now casting a 
pale golden light on an easy chair. Draped 
across the easy chair back was a pale green 
negligee almost as intangible and diaphanous 
as the moonlight. Carroll blushed and re- 
membered where he was — ^and also why he 
had come. 

“Rhine,” he said. “You’ll come with me?” 
“Of course,” she told him. 

His suspicion returned vaguely. “Tell me,” 
he pleaded, “Is it because you know that 
there is no return for you or — ” 

“Sol is menaced,” she replied simply. “Sol 
must be saved and you are the only man in 
the world that can do it. I want Sol saved.” 
“But why?” he demanded. 

“Because,” she replied. 



50 STARTLING STCmiES 



Carroll shook his head. Question and an- 
swer were pat. Human, alien, animal, vege- 
table or mineral — the same question and the 
same answer! 

Rhine chuckled again. “Beat it,” she said. 
“But leave the teleport running. I’ll be 
through as soon as I’m dressed.” 

He nodded, arose and went through the 
teleport. Rhinegallis followed him in about 
ten minutes and once more they were in the 
laboratory of Carroll’s Wisconsin home. 



CHAPTER XII 
Negative Matter 



F or an Instant their gaze held. 

“Now,” asked Carroll, "what is the 
Lawson Radiation?” 

“Should I know?” she queried by way of 
reply. 

“I think so.” 

“Why?” 

“As an emissary, you should.” 

She laughed. “Fm still giving no evidence, 
James. I cannot. I am human.” 

He looked down at her, and the recollection 
of her kiss was strong. “There are times,” he 
said ruminatively, “when you most certainly 
are!” 

She let her eyes drop. Then she raised 
them again. “I know very little about it,” she 
told him. “And practically nothing but what 
you’ve told me. A lot about alien mathe- 
matics and sciences. I think that somewhere 
in the maze of data there will be the answer 
you seek.” 

“And that,” he replied, “may be either a 
chance statement based upon good prediction 
or the remark of an alien who knows where 
the body is hidden but will say nothing more 
than, ‘Getting warmer’.” 

“So what do we do?” she asked. “Shall 
we let this simmer down to the old unan- 
swerable argument as to my mental status 
or shall we forget that and take to real 
investigation?” 

“Investigation,” he said. “You’re a darned 
good librarian, Rhine. You tabulate and I’ll 
try to juggle it out.” 

Rhine went to the draftman’s table and 
sat down. 

“I’ve maintained all along that the Lawson 
Radiation was the by-product of faster-than- 



l^ht travel,” he said. “Ignoring the argu- 
ment of aliens and such, we have good evi- 
dence at present. There is a body of negative 
mass approaching Terra. This negative mass 
is approaching Terra at a velocity not only 
exceeding the velocity of light but traveling 
several hundred times the velocity of light.” 

He paused. Then he sat down — hard. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, seeing the 
look of consternation on his face. 

“The photogranhs,” he said bleakly. 

“Yes?” 

“Can a rifle bullet traveling faster than 
sound be heard before it arrives?” he asked 
enigmatically. 

“No.” 

“Then a body traveling faster than light 
cannot be seen before it arrives! Those 
pictures show a region of the sky and a few 
stellar catastrophes that took place years 
ago when the light left there unless — ” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless the telescope made of the teleport 
mirror effect utilizes a type of radiation that 
propagates faster than light.” 

Rhine nodded. “If celestial bodies can 
travel faster than light,” she said, “it stands 
to reason that some form of energy can travel 
faster than light also. After all, matter is one 
form of energy.” 

Carroll smiled quietly. “This is negative 
matter,” he said. “And so far as I have been 
able to calculate, the only thing that can 
avoid the Einstein Increase in mass with in- 
crease in energy would be some object hav- 
ing negative mass. But negative mass is as 
meaningless a term as negative energy.” 

“A gentleman by the name of Dirac got the 
Nobel Prize for postulating states of negative 
kinetic energy,” said Rhine. 

“The positron,” nodded Carroll. 

“Then it must make sense.” 

“It does. A normal body possessing energy 
tends to dissipate that energy by transferring 
the excess to other bodies possessing less 
than it does. A body possessing negative 
energy would demand that energy be applied 
to it in order for it to acquire a state of 
energy equilibrium. 

“The positron, according to Dirac, is a 
state of negative kinetic energy which is 
satisfied only when the energj" of an electron 
is applied to it. In the process known as 
‘pair-production’, where hard gamma strikes 
matter and releases an electron and a pos- 
itron, it is actually a case of separating the 
electron from its positron, leaving in effect 



THE KINGDOM 

a ‘hole’ in the level of energy. 

"It is a man whose bills are not paid but 
are merely covered by written and certified 
checks. Send away one check and you have 
a debit in the man’s account. The positron is 
satisfied very quickly, however, since there 
is a large excess of free electrons to fall into 
place. 

"These cancel the positron — and that proc- 
ess produces hard gamma rays again — of the 
same energy content as required to cause the 
‘pair production’ in the first place. About one 
million electron yolts plus,” he added. 

She hesitated a moment. 

"Now — about this negative mass,” she said. 

“Simple,” he said. “Very simple. A neg- 
ative mass is the only thing that can exceed 
the speed of light. Similarly negative energy 
is the only kind that can propagate in excess 
of light. So now let’s juggle equations until 
we can reproduce the same.” 

Rhine nodded, picked up a pencil and then 
looked at him expectantly. 

“Put down,” he said with a smile, “the 
first equation that ever told the truth about 
the relationship between mass and energy. 
Energy ‘E’ equals Mass ‘M’ times the squared 
speed of light, 

“And from there?” 

“And from there we start juggling until 
we find out how to introduce the negative 
factor. And I do not mean by dividing by 
the square root of minus one,” he told her. 

OCTOR POLLARD looked up at the 
man who stood before his desk. “Mr. 
Galloway,” he said, “You may believe your- 
self normally right but you are ethically 
wrong.” 

“Morals and ethics be hanged!” snarled 
Rhine’s brother. “That nut has kidnaped my 
sister again.” 

“Not without her aid,” smiled Pollard. 

"Aid be hanged too!” shouted Kingston 
Galloway. "He tried to kill her once and he 
may try again.” 

“Look,” said Pollard quietly. “There are 
times when personality and identity mean 
nothing. I think well of my life, as much as 
you think of yours. Yet I’d feel less than 
human if I permitted myself and my ideas 
to stand in the way of civilization.” 

“Stop talking like a superior being and 
come down to facts." yelled Kingston Gallo- 
way. 

“I am. James Forrest Carroll is the only 
man on earth who can save Terra from cer- 



OF THE BLIND 51 

tain destruction. Your sister can be of help 
to him.” 

“How?” demanded Kingston. 

“Rita is an excellent librarian. She has 
the ability to recall facts and figures beyond 
most people. She has almost an eidetic mem- 
ory. Whether Carroll is sane or completely 
schizophrenic-paranoid, his statements and 
his theories are solid when based upon his 
own line of reason. 

“That his line of reason does not agree 
with heretofore known physical facts is of no 
consequence since several of the unsound, 
unscientific, un-factual reasonings have pro- 
duced things that work. Unsound as they 
may seem, they are not unreasonable — ex- 
cepting to us who can not reason that way.” 
“Get to the point.” 

“Whether Carroll urges Rita to display a 
horde of facts because he thinks they come 
from an alien mind in a human body, or 
whether he understands the truth — that they 
are merely repeats of his own statements 
made when he does not recall them — the fact 
remains that Rita is his tabulator, his en- 
cyclopedia of fact, his memory. She and she 
alone can put down concurrently things he 
has reasoned out, once when himself and 
next when he is — un-sane.” 

“But .she’s in danger!” 

“So are we all,” replied Pollard easily. 
“And Rita herself knows the danger. And,” 
he added with a snort of derision, “of what 
good is your so-called moral integrity going 
to do you a year from today if James Forrest 
Carroll is stopped from preventing the ca- 
lamity due to erase Sol from existence in a 
month?” 

“He’s a madman. How can you believe 
that this danger really exists?” 

“The danger is what drove him mad.” 
“And made him believe that Rita and I 
are aliens?” 

“Merely manifestations of the hallucina- 
tion.” 

Kingston Galloway growled in his throat. 
“I ought to kill you,” he snarled. “Not only 
have you left my sister unprotected, but 
you’ve condoned her kidnaping and now you 
sit there and tell me that the fate of the 
world lies in the mind of a lunatic.” 

Pollard smiled. “There have been many 
historic times when civilization was nearly 
torn down by a madman. Let history record 
once when civilization was saved by one.” 
“At my sister’s expense!” Kingston 
stormed, barely able to control his rage. 




52 STARTLING STORIES 



P OLLARD shook his head. Then he said 
patiently, “James Forrest Carroll was 
driven mad by this knowledge of inescapable 
doom, because his subconscious mind knew 
that the answer was hidden in the realm of 
physics termed ‘unreasonable’ to the true 
physicist. 

“Once James Forrest Carroll has suc- 
ceeded in removing this menace he will 
know that amnesia and mental retreat are 
not necessary for the preservation of his 
sanity. There will undoubtedly be evidences, 
too, to support the ‘unreasonable’ physics in 
terms of what we know to be true. Thus 
Carroll will be completely self-justified and 
will be returned to normal.’’ 

“You talk a lot about self-justification,” 
snarled Kingston. 

“Everybody is self-justified,” said Pollard. 
“Sanity is when the self-justification of the 
individual is, within certain limits, similar to 
the self-justification of the average human 
being. Insanity is when the self-justification 
of the individual lies outside of reasonable 
limits. Once Carroll’s self-justification — 
which is one more way of saying his ‘view- 
point’ — is reasonably similar to others, sanity 
will return.” 

“And in the meantime, what about Rita?” 
“Rita is at worst a good soldier,” said 
Pollard. “At best, she alone will realize the 
full truth. But just remember neither morals 
nor ethics mean a thing to a civilization that 
has just perished before a nova. And I have 
more than a little respect for the morals and 
ethics of both Carroll and your sister under 
any circumstances.” 

“But she’s my sister and he’s — ” 

“Shut up. You’re talking like a fool. 
They’re doing nothing wrong. Stop them 
and you’ll destroy the earth. Perhaps if you’d 
left him alone — them alone — Carroll might 
not have identified you with his hallucinatory 
aliens.” 

“Yeah? And just what is an alien?” de- 
manded Kingston. 

“An alien,” smiled Pollard, “is any man 
who does not think as you do!” 

“Bah!” cried Kingston, turning on his heel. 
He left the office swearing eternal vengeance. 

An hour later, Majors came bursting into 
Pollard’s office. “Pollard!” he exclaimed. 
“Listen! That wildman Kingston Galloway 
has just collected a gang of his cohorts, 
friends and buddies and they’ve all taken 
off like wildmen. They’re heading for 
Wisconsin!” 



“The stupid idiot!” exploded Pollard, com- 
ing out of his chair. “Come on!” 

***** 

R HINEGALLIS clasped Carroll’s arm 
tightly as she stood beside him and 
looked at the almost-vibrant blackness that 
seemed to shimmer in the encircling wire 
mounted on the wall. Carroll was too busy to 
pay attention to her clasp. 

He was busy adjusting knobs on a hay- 
wire equipment on the bench beside him. 
The shimmering blackness flared briefly at 
one side, turned milky for an instant near 
the top — and then a pinprick of utter — 
nothingness — appeared to one side of the 
circle. 

Carroll adjusted knobs, brought the spot 
of sheer black into the center of the artificial 
plate and then expanded it. It was noticeable 
only because it — as a circle of utter no- 
response — was less energetic than the misty 
background. 

“That,” he said, “is it.” 

“The negative mass?” 

He nodded. “Is the ‘fence’ ready?” 
“Checked.” 

“Now’s as good a time as any,” he said 
laconically. He left the vantage-point and 
went to another panel in the laboratory and 
began to throw switches. 

Five miles from Carroll’s home a ten mile 
circle of wire came to life. Set on insulators 
mounted on trees in a rough circle, the area 
ten miles in diameter shimmered with a thin, 
misty film of energy — the same energy as 
that of the teleport. 

It thickened as Carroll adjusted the driving 
gear, thickened and became more positive 
until it was as shiningly opaque as the tele- 
port screen-mirror. Trees in the circle, cut 
clean at the surface of the mirror fell, im- 
pelled by gravity into the screen. Then 
above the perfect plane of energy was noth- 
ing. 

The trimmed trees fell helter skelter into a 
deep gorge from a smaller teleport plane 
twenty miles to the north. 

Then the perfect plane bowed downward 
into a shallow paraboloid of revolution. As 
it went down the up-thrusting trees were 
trimmed off and the matter in them con- 
verted into energy. A minute but perfect 
sphere appeared atop a pillar of energy not 
far from the rim of the paraboloid. 



THE KINGDOM 

Down went the center of the paraboloid, 
down into the bowels of the earth, and the 
sphere of stored energy grew rapidly. Down 
went the center, deep, until a perfect para- 
bolic reflector ten miles in diameter and 
twelve miles deep resulted. The cubic. mile 
after cubic mile of earth, rock, water, and 
forest were stored as energy in the sphere, 
now a full three feet in diameter. 

A landslide started near the rim, and earth 
rumbled forward down the side of the de- 
pression. disappearing as it touched the out- 
side of the energy-shell that was Carroll’s 
reflector. The rim of trees that supported 
the energizing ring fell into the widening 
inverted funnel but its job v^as over. The 
mirror was stable, held by the energy con- 
tained in the perfect sphere on the column 
near its edge. 

The rumbling stopped a.s stability came. 
The roar, all of it sheer physical sound from 
tortured earth, died and left a hollow va- 
cancy in comparison. 

Then Carroll took a small set of levers and 
manipulated them like a man flying a drone 
airplane. The sphere of energy left the col- 
umn and was driven over the gaping maw of 
the mighty reflector. Dov/n it dropped until 
it was at the exact focus of the paraboloid. 
There it compressed to almost a point. 

“This.” said Carroll, “is iti” 

He reached for the master switch just as 
a flashing bolt of coruscating energy dazzled 
across the room, searing his arm. 

“King!” screamed Rhinegallis, “Don’t!” 



CHAPTER XIII 
Last Chance 



T hrough the door .swarmed Kingallis 
and four of his henchmen. They paused 
to get their bearing and then they plunged 
forward, shouting. Rhine made ineffective 
gestures against them — patre instinct, for her 
senses were shocked by their abrupt appear- 
ance. 

Carroll cursed. His sense of timing told 
him that there was no second to waste, yet 
his right arm hung useless and he was reeling 
weakly from the shock. They did not fire 
again as they came swarming across the floor, 
but their interception of his move was as 
effective. Kingallis, with an angry shout, 



OF THE BLIND 53 

caught Carroll and hurled him away from 
the panel. 

Two of the others took Rhine by the arms 
and drew her back out of the way. 

“Now!” snarled Kingallis, with sheer ani- 
mal tones in his voice. “We’ll see about this!” 

He waved the other two aside and back 
and then stepped forward to slap Carroll 
across the face. The blow, meant as an insult 
strong enough to arouse fighting instinct, was 
strong enough to stagger Carroll. 

“Weakling,” scoffed Kingallis. He back- 
handed the staggering physicist again and 
again, driving Carroll against the far wall 
of the laboratory. 

“Come on and fight,” sneered Kingallis. 

Rhine shrieked in mad anger. “Fight?” 
she shrilled, “after you’ve shot him?” 

Kingallis kicked Carroll in the abdomen. 
“Coward!” screamed Rhinegallis. With a 
superhuman strength born of sheer madness, 
Rhine hurled herself out of the hands of her 
captors and raced across the floor. Her 
fingernails came down across her brother’s 
face drawing a torrent of blood from torn 
eyelids. At the same time she kneed him in 
the stomach. Her blow' w'as more effective 
than Kingallis’s had been on Carroll. He 
stumbled back writhing in pain. 

But only for a moment— he straightened 
and cursed blackly, stepped forward and 
slapped Rhine across the face, hurling her 
back into the hands of the others by the 
force of the blow. Then he turned quickly 
for Carroll had recovered. 

But instead of going to Rhine’s rescue Car- 
roll turned and raced madb' across the floor. 
He hurled his good shoulder against the 
master swatch, driving it home. 

Relays slapped home — 

And light itself was tortured. The very 
walls of the laboratory seemed to shake and 
weaver because of the mighty electrostatic 
stresses set up in the continuum of space. 
The square, precision-machined equipment 
warped into non-mechanical distortions. 

Vastnesses of energy flowed in a mad vor- 
tex. Steep gradients of electrostatic charge 
flowed back and forth like the s^irface of a 
stormj' sea. and corona discharge hissed and 
trickled out of all sharp corners. 

The nerves tingled and muscles twitched; 
normal senses produced abnormal stimuli. 
In one man’s hand one of the weapons dis- 
charged into the floor and he tried to hurl 
it from him with a cry of pain. He could not 
open his clenched hand. 



54 STARTUNG STORIES 



Twitching with every erratic reversal of 
the charged field that surrounded the area, 
James Forrest Carroll painfully pulled him- 
self to his feet and looked across the shim- 
mering room. Pride and self-confidence 
added to his will-power. He stood there as 
his tingling brain considered the facts of 
the matter. 

Regardless of what happened now — re- 
gardless of himself or of anybody— he had 
won this battle. He laughed and in the tor- 
tured continuum of the place his laugh 
soimded like a . mad cackle. 

Fear was painfully slow in coming to the 
faces of Kingallis and his cohorts. Then it 
came — fear and the realization of danger. 
King gave an angry, wordless cry and tried 
to cross the laboratory floor. He could not 
quite make it. 

C ARROLL turned his back on them and 
watched the viewplate on the far wall. 
It was wavering and distorted but it showed 
the sky and the sphere of negative mass. 

Out in the parabolic reflector, the tiny 
compressed sphere of energy disappeared 
into a hole of blackness, from which ex- 
panded an exploding shell of sheer light- 
energy. Against the reflector it poured in a 
howling torrent and into the sky it went — 
and disappeared. 

Faster than the light it created it went, 
on and out into space. Gone — unseen — ^un- 
detectable — save for the black circle on ihe 
wall of Carroll’s laboratory. 

There it was evident as a column, a cylin- 
der that blazed like the fury it was. How 
long it lasted is beyond guesswork. Its 
duration was several seconds in the making, 
its velocity the speed of light multiplied by 
an unknown quantity that registered in the 
thousands. 

It was — the Lawson Radiation — the Lawson 
Radiation multiplied and increased as the 
light from the sun is greater than the pale 
ineffective illumination coming from a Will 
O’ the Wisp. 

It only took seconds, while the continuum 
heaved and strained to regain its equilibrium 
and the sensitive nervous systems of those 
in the laboratory tingled and screamed to 
the dictates of flowing energy. Seconds only 
it took for that flying column of energy to 
reach the black circle that was the negative 
mass that menaced Terra. 

Yes, seconds only, it took. The negative 
mass that menaced Sol could not have been 



far away. 

Then cylinder and sphere met in a 
singular lack of display. The cylinder, nar- 
row but shining, bored into the sphere, dark 
and menacing. Perceptibly, flie sphere 
slowed, dragged, came to a halt — then accel- 
erated in the reverse direction. 

In milliseconds the celestial body of neg- 
ative mass had been stopped £ind re-started 
on its return trip. It accelerated swiftly, the 
acceleration-factor itself rising as the energy 
from the column became the energy of 
motion of the negative mass. 

A negative mass — similar to a negative 
energy-level — demands energy before it can 
be stable. Its demands were satisfied and 
then satiated. It raced into unthinkable 
velocities before the column of energy was 
all used up and stiU the column poured into 
the negative mass. 

It could not have been accomplished 
against a positive mass but the negative mass 
possessed negative inertia. The harder it was 
driven, the less energy it took to drive it 
harder. 

Across space it went, becoming a pinpoint 
in Carroll’s artificial viewplate. The stars 
of the galaxy behind it shone brightly — all 
but the one directly in line with the flight of 
the negative mass. 

Then, as the spacial stresses diminished and 
a man could think again in that area, there 
was a tiny flash on the viewplate. 

And James Forrest Carroll laughed. “Finis” 
he roared. 

King shook himself. “You madman! You 
destroying fiend — get him!” 

The laboratory echoed and re-echoed with 
the wild thunder of released energy. Rhine 
dropped beside Carroll. Her right hand 
flicked up to a switch on the panel, and out 
of thin air there appeared a tenuous inverted 
bowl of light. Flying bits of metal as well as 
the bursts of released energy deflected from 
the inverted bowl. 

Painfully, Carroll stood up and advanced 
across the floor towards Kingallis and his 
cohorts. He walked through a veritable 
tornado of sheer death, and Rhinegallis fol- 
lowed him because to get outside of his 
protecting shield was to die. 

They looked at him as they would have 
viewed a specter, for he advanced through 
their hail of death unharmed. In fright they 
herded back, their weapons lowered help- 
lessly. 

Cornered and helpless against the teleport 



55 



THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND 



they waited, shivering in fright. 

“You said once,” snarled Carroll, “that the 
universe was not large enough for your kind 
and mine. As I have destroyed your world 
so rU destroy you!” 

He lunged forward, and they turned and 
rushed madly into the teleport. Carroll 
shook his head. 

"They — ?” asked Rhine, shakily. 

“The special stress is still present,” he 
quavered. “They were teleported into the 
nearest and strongest field.” He turned and 
stumbled across the floor to the controls and 
shut off the gigantic reflector. The rumblings 
started as a final landslide tumbled down the 
declivity into the bowl. The screams of King 
and his cohorts were lost in the thunder of 
avalanche. 

J AMES FORREST CARROLL sat in the 
easy chair in Pollard’s office and smiled 
tolerantly at the psychologist. 

“Sure, sure,” he said easily. “All in my 
mind.” 

Pollard grunted. "Well, it is.” 

“Baloney. I suppose Kingallis didn’t come 
to prevent me from destroying his world?” 
“He came—” 

“Knowing,” said Carroll, “that if he stopped 
me he and his kind could go on with their 
mad plan for conquest. May I ask about 
this?” he held up his injured arm. 

“When I last saw Kingston Galloway — ” 
started Majors. 

“You call him Kingston Galloway,” laughed 
Carroll. “But I know he is Kingallis. Now go 
ahead.” 

“He and his bunch were carrying pistols.” 
“He shot at me with some sort of energy 
weapon. This is, a burn, not a bullet-hole!” 
Majors shook his head. “Not a chance. 
Admitting that what you sent out was an 
energy-beam, it is still impossible to believe 
that a '^and-sized energy weapon is prac- 
tical.” 

“Granted,” said Carroll. “But then there’s 
this evidence. Explain this, will you? I 
don’t mind getting my arm burned badly if 
it will only make you believe.” 

Doctor Pollard shook his head with a 
smile. “Stigmata,” he said. “The ‘Bleeding 
Madonna’ who exhibits wounds and bleeding 
from hands, feet, sides and forehead on 
Good Friday. A sheer mental phenomenon — 
psychosomatica. This is the same. You are 
so convinced as to the positiveness of these 
aliens that your mind produced this burn 



as evidence.” 

“Brother, this ain’t no mental mirage,” 
snapped Carroll. 

“No one said it was. But the power of the 
human mind is such that the cellular struc- 
ture of the body will exhibit burn-trauma 
when the mind believes it so. So one of 
them crea.sed your arm and you reacted as 
though it were the bum your mind believed 
it to be. 

“We’ve been through all this before. It’s 
just cause and effect and result. This time 
it is only the latter that counts. You’ve 
destroyed the menace that drove you in- 
sane.” 

“Look,” said Carroll, “I’ve been through 
it.”- 

“And nothing you’ve turned up with can 
be construed as any evidence beyond the 
manufacture of your own mind. And nothing 
that you will ever find — ” 

C ARROLL nodded angrily. “I’ve got a 
couple of projects yet. One is the hand- 
held weapon — just to prove to the bright boys 
who, think this bum wing is thought-up — 
that such is possible. The other may bring 
proof, but it may take some time. 

“I’ve still got me a job. I’m going to de- 
velop the faster -than- light space drive and go 
out looking for aliens. They had interstellar 
travel. They all couldn’t have been de- 
stroyed.” 

“Forget it, Carroll.” 

“Forget it?” exploded the physicist. “For- 
get it when I’ve a whole world of physics 
waiting for me to develop? Not on your 
life!” 

He stood up and grinned at them boyishly. 
Then he left and as the door closed Majors 
looked askance at Pollard. 

Pollard smiled. “He’ll forget it,” he said. 
“The aliens will become dimmer and dimmer 
in his memory until they are gone. But right 
now we have a fairly stable James Forrest 
Carroll on our hands. And, Majors, the final 
therapy is out there waiting for him. Fine 
girl.” 

“Rhine,” said Carroll softly as the door 
closed behind him. “Rhine.” 

“I’m — waiting,” she replied. “But why not 
call me Rita. Everybody else does.” 

“I know,” he said, looking at her pointedly. 
“But I’m amused, sort of.” 

“Why?” 

“Because the one thing that permitted 
you to gain access to our research was the 



STARTLING STORIES 



56 

thing that licked your pals.” 

“And?” she asked, puzzled. 

“People too often try to divorce the mind 
from the body,” he told her. “It can’t be 
done.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

“Infants are all brought into this world 
alike from a mental standpoint. Yet within 
a few short months each is a separate identity 
with a different personality, no matter how 
similar the environment and heredity. This 
is because the mind of man is but the accu- 
mulated result of what his sensory channels 
bring it. 

“An alien you were once, Rhine. But from 
the instant that you took over that very nice 
Terran body your mind began to receive 
information and experiences through the 
sensory channels of a Terran body. 

“Every item, every experience, brought 



to your mind through Terran channels forced 
your mind to interpret it in terms of Terran 
nervous stimuli. Therefore, from the second 
instant after taking over, you began to 
change subtly to the Terran. 

“Go on — tell me the rest,” she said with 
a smile. 

“Day by day, week by week, you will 
become more and more Terran. Eventually, 
your alien experiences will fade and you will 
be as one of us and no longer alien.” 

“You know,” she said shyly, “someday I 
intend to present you with a little alien.” 
“That’ll be interesting,” he chuckled. “You 
are becoming more and more Terran even 
now.” 

“But not,” she said with absolute finality, 
“until we have paid a visit to the clergy!" 
“See what I mean?” 

She laughed — very humanlike. 




riiECHNOLOGICALLY it was a new era. Electronics had begun to reach maturity. Turbo-jet 
engines had revolutionized flying. New antibiotics brightened the medical outlook. And one day 
long before, in 1946, a man in a light plane had dropped six pounds of dry ice pellets into a cloud 
and created the first artificial snowstorm. Out of that beginning a great science grew. Since the 
days of Creation man had been slave of the weather — until now! The Deluge, the Ice Age, hur- 
ricanes, droughts, the Dust Bowl — all that was coming under control. . . . 

Society was ruled by the Cromwellians, and mechanical men supplied the answers to every 
problem. But — the Cromwellians did not allow advances — for advance meant change — and the 
status quo was the foundation upon which their world was built! 

You will enter this amazing world of the future when you read next issue’s novel — LORD OF 
THE STORM, by KEITH HAMMOND — a novel that will hold you spellbound ! Stimulating and 
profound, LORD OF THE STORM packs solid entertainment as well as plenty of food for 
thought! 






Ursoe laughed es he gave the tttghter man a shove 



THE HIMC BONANZA 

By OTTO BINBEB 



Honest prospectors like Timkin 
from Saturn's rings, but will 

T he rings of Saturn stretched like a 
level sheet in all directions, though 
actually composed of millions of tiny 
bodies. Homer Timkin carefully braked with 
the nose rockets till he floated motionlessly 
with respect to the ring’s own rotary motion 
aroimd its primary. Then he eagerly donned 
his vac-suit. 



may some day comb relics 
there be rats like Larsoe? 

Had he struck it rich this time? Through 
his binoculars, a moment ago, he had seen 
the glint of one small jagged lump among the 
ring debris — and it had glinted like gold or 
silver. There was vast treasure among the 
rings, if one could find it. . . . 

In his vac-suit he used his reaction pistol 
to propel him down toward the glinting mass. 
57 



58 STARTLING STORIES 



In his eagerness, he almost failed to see the 
other ring body which now hurtled up, pur- 
suing its own independent orbit within the 
grander sweep of the rings. 

Timkin braked with his reaction pistol 
only in time to let the marauder lumber past, 
scraping his foot. He let out his breath with 
a hiss. That had been close. Many a ring 
prospector never returned to the Titan docks, 
because of some such accident as this, creep- 
ing up on you unawares. 

More than prospecting in earth’s out-of- 
the-way spots had ever been it was a hazard- 
ous occupation among Saturn’s rings. But 
it had its enticing rewards and lures. Some 
prospectors returned with a load of precious 
metals or uncut virgin diamonds that made 
them rich for life. 

Timkin reached the glinting body he had 
previously spied. It was irregular in shape, 
some five feet in its greatest diameter. And 
it had a yellow tinge in the soft light shed 
by huge Saturn over his shoulder. Timkin 
permitted himself wild hope as he chipped off 
a piece with his belt pick. He held the chip 
up to his glassine visor, squinting at the 
grain. 

His face fell slack. 

“Fool’s gold!” he muttered, flinging the 
piece away in a small fury. 

It was just pyrites, worth a few cents a 
pound in the market and not worth the haul- 
ing. Timkin sat down on- the miniature 
worldlet and cursed all the gods of luck and 
ill luck. He had been out a month now, and 
no bonanza. Of course, it had been so for the 
past ten years. Each year the old prospector 
hoped for his big find, and each year he only 
eked out a precarious living, picking up odd 
bits from the rings. 

He looked with bleary eye over the plana 
of the rings, stretching vastly in all direc- 
tions. Timkin was not young any more. His 
lean spare body could not stand the rigors 
of space much longer. His leathery, seamed 
face showed the strain of countless near- 
escapes from death. If he didn’t strike it 
rich this trip he’d have to retire — ^poor. He’d 
be one of those derelicts, haunting the Titan 
docks and mooching meals. 

He shuddered. 

Hopelessly, he watched the endless parade 
of the rings. By far the most of their ex- 
panse was just worthless rock. Then he saw 
a jet black lump not far off. It was coal. 
Timkin grinned mirthlessly. 

Coal had been used as an industrial fuel 



and chemical storehouse some 200 years ago. 
Today it was no more than a curiosity in 
museums. That was his luck — spotting things 
in the rings that would barely pay the ex- 
penses of his trip. 

As he sat he also saw a whitish mass 
further along — fossil bones. And nearby, a 
dully shining angular object, probably a bit 
of machinery. 

Sighing, Timkin got up. “Got to make 
expenses,” he muttered. “Might as well col- 
lect those odds and ends.” 

His reaction pistol took him to the lump 
of coal. It v/as four feet in diameter but in 
weightless space it was no strain for Timkin 
to push it toward his ship and stow it 
through the back lock into the hold. 

Then he went back for the space-bleached 
bones. Theory had it that there had once 
been a moon of Saturn . within two-and-a- 
half diameters of the giant planet. Gravita- 
tional stresses had then exploded the moon 
into countless fragments, which took up the 
same orbit after spreading out and thus came 
to be the unique rings. 

S EEMINGLY, there had once been life, 
and civilization, on the destroyed moon. 
Fossil bones, once buried within the moon’s 
crust, now floated within the ring debris— 
and bits of machinery of some vanished and 
unknown race. There was no oxygen or 
moisture in space to rust them and thus the 
metal remained perfectly preserved through 
eons of time. 

Timkin looked musingly at the bones, as 
he shoved them to his ship. They made up 
part of the skeleton of an ancient creature 
that possibly resembled an earthly tiger. The 
Saturn Archeological Museum would pay 
five SS- dollars for this — Solar System Dol- 
lars, the standard currency. Not too bad. 

Finally, Timkin got the bit of machinery. 
It consisted of a broken portion of a huge 
cogged wheel with dangling wires and bits 
of other enigmatic mechanical devices. Tim- 
kin wondered just how advanced the people 
had been who once inhabited the first moon. 
That was something even the experts didn’t 
know with the few poor clues they had 
collected. 

For a moment, Timkin’s imagination 
wandered. He pictured life on the first moon, 
before the debacle. Towering cities — ^hum- 
ming wheels — busy, industrious people. 
Then, abruptly, their world cracking apart, 
into a billion bits. And now only this re- 



THE RING 

mained . . . the rings of Saturn. 

As Timkin brought the broken wheel to 
his ship he took one last look around and saw 
another museum item. It had circled in slow 
gyrations and come into view from the back 
of his ship. Timkin got that too, perhaps the 
most intriguing find of the lot, for it was a 
stone with mysterious “writing” on it. The 
museum had quite a collection of such stones, 
evidently parts of temples or buildings. 

Seemingly the people of the first moon 
had inscribed most of their stone walls with 
their writings. But these writings had never 
been translated. They were a riddle that 
baffled the best archeological minds of the 
System. 

He also put this carved stone in the hold. 

“Huh,” he grunted. “I’m just a scavenger 
for the museum, that’s what I am.” 

Timkin looked over the things crammed in 
his hold, gleaned from the rings for a month. 
Their total value would possibly pay for the 
ti’ip with a few SS-dollars to spare. Yet one 
find of gold or precious stone and he would 
dump the whole mess out and be far the 
richer. 

Growling to himself, Timkin took off his 
vac-suit and went to the controls. He 
debated. He still had food and fuel enough 
for three days before he had to return to the 
Titan docks. What should he do? 

“I’m going to the Crepe Ring,” he finally 
told himself. “I had no luck in Rings A and 
B, so why not try C just to play it out to the 
finish?” 

Timkin had started, a month ago, at the 
outer ring — Ring A. This portion of the rings 
had an outer diameter of 171,000 miles and 
extended inward toward Saturn for 11,100 
miles. 

Then there was a separation of 2,200 miles 
between rings A and B named Cassini’s Di- 
vision when first seen through earthly tele- 
scopes centuries ago. 

Ring B was 145,000 miles, outer diameter, 
and some 18,000 miles wide. Another space 
of 1000 miles and then came Ring C or the 
Crepe Ring, 11,000 miles wide. So had the 
rings of Saturn distributed themselves, 
under the laws of gravitation, when the first 
moon exploded ages before. The first moon 
had not been large, for the total mass of all 
the rings was estimated at no more than one- 
quarter of earth’s moon. 

Timkin urged his old rattletrap Jetahout 
up from the plane of the rings till he had a 
clear path before him and then jetted straight 



BONANZA 59 

toward mighty Saturn, which hung in the 
sky like a bloated, vari-colored marble. 

He crossed the narrow empty space 
between Rings B and C and finally cruised 
over the outer edges of the Crepe Ring. 
Saturn was only 17,000 miles distant and 
Timkin could feel the faint tug of its power- 
ful gravitation. 

“Now,” ’Timkin said between set teeth, 
“let’s see if I have any luck. I’ve got three 
days to nose around through the Crepe 
Ring, searching. I know there’s gold or dia- 
monds ahead ... if I can just stumble on 
them.” 

S HE slowly cruised above the Crepe 
Ring, with his binoculars to his eyes, 
Timkin munched a sandwich and now and 
then took a swig of coffee. In all their 
explorations of other worlds earthmen had 
never found any beverage better than time- 
honored coffee, though the Martians tried 
hard to sell a green -tinted product called 
tukka. 

Timkin’s hand gave a little jerk, and his 
binoculars wavered. Watching him one would 
have thought he had spied something excit- 
ing — like gold. But it was something else, 
almost equally as startling. . . . 

“Another Jetahout!” Timkin murmured. 
“Gave me a start, seeing it so suddenly.” 

It was a rare event when two wandering 
Jetabouts happened to cross paths in the vast 
area of the rir- -almost like two explorers 
in the heart' of Africa meeting each other. 
Timkin grinned humorlessly. 

“Another chump!” he thought. “He 
wouldn’t have a bonanza, or he’d be streak- 
ing back for Titan. He’s cruising and looking 
for something like me.” 

Timkin flashed his heliograph, reflecting 
the light of Saturn, at the other ship. An 
answering greeting flashed back. Timkin 
watched it as it kept going on its course and 
slowly faded into distance. He felt less lone- 
ly for a moment. 

Timkin went back to his scanning of the 
ring bodies with his glasses. He saw another 
lump of coal but was too wearied at the 
thought of donning his vac-suit for it, and 
let it go by under him. It was not till a 
minute later that he snapped to attention. 
For now he remembered, belatedly, that he 
had also seen a yellow glow near the black 
coal. 

“Day-dreaming, that’s what I was!” he 
’ d, hastily braking and spinning the Jet- 
about around. “If that w'as gold, and I don’t 




60 STARTLING STORIES 



find it again, I’ll. . . 

It was not easy to backtrack in the rings, 
and find a certain spot you had passed over. 
The rings were constantly in motion, in 
their orbit around Saturn. And each body 
in the rings had its own private motion in 
respect to the others. Some gyrated fantas- 
tically around others. 

A huge body might in turn exert enough 
gravitation of its own to hold smaller bodies 
in its grip, and force them to become its 
“moons.” And these satellites then perturbed 
nearby bodies, causing them to weave and 
shuttle within the ring. 

In short, any body in the ring might shift 
position enough in the space of a minute or 
two to be lost forever. 

Timkin shot back to the coal lump. Yes, 
the coal lump was there, not having a 
complicated private motion. But where was 
the yellow lump that his blind eyes had seen 
— -and ignored? There were a hundred other 
little bodies around the coal lump and to 
look them all over one by one. . . . 

Timkin’s heart sank to its lowest ebb 
before suddenly he saw the yellow glint 
again. Then, thankfully, he shot the Jet- 
about over it and hovered, locking the con- 
trols. Minutes later in his vac-suit he was 
propelling himself down to the yellow lump 
via reaction pistol. 

“It’s only fool’s gold, of course,” he told 
himself to calm his wildly racing pulse. 
“Just think of it as fool’s gold, so you won’t 
be disappointed again. Or it could be cheap 
copper. So don’t get excited — yet.” 

Timkin reached the yellow body, fumbled 
with his pick and finally chipped off a piece. 
He noticed it sheared off under the hard 
pick, rather than chipped. He dared to hope 
it was soft gold. And when he held the bit 
to his visor. . . . 

“Gold!” 

He said the one word quietly. Then he 
sat down on the lump, shaken. 

“Gold,” he repeated. “I hit it — gold! My 
bonanza! My dream for ten years!” 

It was minutes before he could control his 
shaking nerves and allow the warm glow of 
exultation to spread through him like wine, 
giving him new strength. He arose and, like 
a bird, made a circle around the lump, using 
his reaction pistol. He estimated its weight 
as a thousand pounds, earth measure. Then 
he stopped to stand on it again, a king on an 
island. 

“Of course, it ain t pure gold,” Timkin told 



himself. “But it looks like about fifty per- 
cent pure. They say the first moon before it 
exploded didn’t have many seas to dissolve 
and thin out ore deposits. So I can figure 
about five hundred pounds of gold. At the 
pegged rate of thirty-seven SS-dollars an 
ounce. . . .” 

Timkin’s head was too light and buzzy to 
reach the total. 

“But I’m rich,” he exulted. “Filthy rich. 
Gold is even more valuable today than it 
used to be on earth in the old days.” 

T imkin was right. Contrary to all fanci- 
ful and unfounded predictions, gold had 
never lost its value. True, the nations of 
earth had all gone off the gold-standard in 
the 20th century and for a while gold was 
a forgotten metal, buried in vaults. 

But then it came into its own as one of 
the most non-corrodable metals. When space 
travel came into being, an alloy of gold 
became the standard coating for all equip- 
ment used on other worlds, some of which 
had noxious atmospheres that could rust iron 
or copper in days to worthless dust. 

But gold in its alloy-hardened form defied 
the worst other worlds had to offer. There- 
upon gold became a metal of commerce and 
its value rose even higher than its one-time* 
value as a money standard. 

And so, with his find of gold, Homer Tim- 
kin was as suddenly wealthy as any Spanish 
explorer of the New World, back in earth’s 
past. 

“It’s sure going to be a pleasure,” crowed 
Timkin, “to drag this lump of gold back to 
Titan!” 

“Yeh, it is — for me!” 

Timkin jumped at the sound of the voice 
behind him, coming out of nowhere. He 
turned, gaping, to see another man in a vac- 
suit slowly approaching, with a reaction 
pistol. Timkin could see the newcomer’s Jet- 
about now, parked alongside his own. Tim- 
kin had been too engrossed in his find to see 
the approach of the ship. 

“Huck Larsoe!” said Timkin in recogni- 
tion for he knew all the other prospectors 
back at the Titan docks. 

“Yeh, Timkin,” returned Huck Larsoe, 
grinning. “I was the Jetabout that passed 
you a while ago. Just before you went out of 
my sight, I saw your ship suddenly scoot on 
a backtrack. That spelled a find to me! So I 
turned and came back, and followed you up.” 
Timkin didn’t like it. Huck Larsoe was a 



THE RING 

younger man and filled out his vac-suit with 
a powerful, hulking body. His stubble of un- 
shaven black beard formed an unkempt 
fringe to the hard-bitten face that peered out 
of the visor. There was something in his cold 
grey eyes that froze Timkin. There was such 
a thing as claim-jumping here in the lawless 
territory of the rings. 

“You sure struck it rich,” Huck Larsoe 
went on. “But maybe you didn’t hear me 
before. I said it was lucky — for me!” 

“Y-you can’t take this from me,” Timkin 
began, his voice tinny as it came out of the 
chin-transmitter to impinge on the radio 
vibrators at Larsoe’s ears. “It’s mine! I 
found it!” 

“Sure, you found it,” agreed Larsoe. “But 
J’m taking it away from you, see?” 

“No!” shrilled Timkin. “That’s plain 
robbery — piracy! I’ll tell the pohce back at 
Titan.” 

Larsoe leered. “And what witnesses have 
you got? You and me are the only two 
humans around here for 50,000 miles. It’ll be 
your word against mine back at Titan. If I 
say I found it myself and you’re trying to 
cut in on it they’ll have to believe me. 
Because I’ll have the gold.” 

Timkin had no weapon. The reaction 
“pistol” was not a weapon at all, merely a 
device for moving in space by means of 
short, harmless rocket blasts. He struggled 
against the bigger man. Larsoe laughed as 
he gave the slighter man a shove that sent 
him spinning off the lump and almost into 
another ring body with jagged edges. 

Then, still laughing, Huck Larsoe shoved 
the mass of gold to his own ship, his reaction 
pistol streaming red flame behind him. He 
turned his mocking face. 

“I ain’t even going to kill you, Timkin, like 
I could. No need going to the trouble. It’s 
still your word against mine, back at Titan. 
You ain’t got a ghost of a chance to prove 
this is your find.” 

Slowly Timkin rocketed back to his own 
ship. He watched Larsoe stow the gold in 
his hold and cast out a mess of fossil bones, 
lumps of coal, bits of machinery and pieces of 
carved stone. 

“Here, Timkin,” Larsoe chortled. “You 
can have this other junk of mine now. It’ll 
help you pay for your trip, anyways. See? 

I ain’t such a bad guy at heart.” 

Amd with a mocking laugh, Larsoe slipped 
into his cabin lock. A moment later his ship 
rocketed away and was lost in black space, 



BONANZA 61 

leaving a broken old man behind. 

Timkin floated beside his ship for long 
bitter minutes without the energy to do any- 
thing. Ten years of searching and hope 
wasted — ten years of hardship and toil. Fate 
had at last rewarded him with a magnificent 
bonanza — and then had kicked him in the 
teeth. 

Timkin was on the verge of madness. For 
a moment he thought of opening his reaction 
pistol wide, gunning straight for the ring 
bodies and seeking peace and etei’nal rest 
there. 

UT then, shudderingly, he brought 
himself back to sanity. The will to live 
triumphed as it did in all living creatures in 
the universe. He looked at the stuff which 
Larsoe had cast from his ship, which was 
slowly drifting away, scattering. 

Rousing himself, Timkin began collecting 
it and stowing it in his hold. No need to let 
the stuff go, even if it was a mocking gift 
from the hated thief. He still had to make 
a profit on the trip. 

Timkin held one carved stone in his hand 
for a moment, staring at its ancient writings. 
It was a triangular piece and seemed to have 
two sets of writing on it. To keep his mind 
from plunging into black despair Timkin tried 
to picture again the ancient civilizaton of the 
first moon. 

But a slight huddled figure sobbed aloud at 
the controls as the Jetabout left the rings and 
aimed for Titan. 

At the Titan docks two days later Homer 
Timkin,. was calm and resigned. There was 
nothing he could do. No use to put in a com- 
plaint against Huck Larsoe, to the police. 
As Larsoe had said, it was one man’s word 
against another’s. With no witnesses the 
legal battle could only end with Larsoe the 
winner. 

Sighing, Timkin hired a rocket truck and 
piled the museum stuff aboard and drove to 
the center of Titan City. Here the Saturn 
Archeological Museum reared, stately and 
imposing on its marble pillars. 

Tirhkin drove to the service entrance and 
rang the bell. An elderly man answered and 
flashed a smile of greeting. 

“Well, Timkin again,” he said. “Back with 
another load of relics from the rings? I take 
it you didn’t hit any bonanza then, eh?” 

“Well, I — ” Timkin stopped. No need to go 
into his story, and broadcast his shame and 
misery to the universe. “No, Professor Blick. 




62 STARTLING STORIES 



No bonanza. But I’ve got a load of stuff for 
you to look over for your museum.” 
Professor Blick, adjusting his thick glasses, 
came out and looked over each item as 
Timkin took it off the truck. 

“Our prices are still standard, Timkin,” he 
said. “Two SS-dollars for a specimen of 
coal. Three for fossil bones.' Five for bits 
of machinery. And ten for the carved stones.” 
“Why,” asked Timkin curiously, “do you 
pay more for the stones than anything?” 
“Because if they could speak they would 
tell us far more about the ancient civilization 
of the first moon, than any of the other items. 
We have a sizeable collection now. We can't 
translate the writing yet. But some day 
we’re going to find the Rosetta Stone that 
will give us the clue and open up the whole 
vast story.” 

“Rosetta Stone?” Timkin was puzzled. 

The professor went on conversationally. 
“Yes. You see, back on earth many cen- 
turies ago, the archeologists of that time also 
found carved writings — the ancient records 
of the Egyptians. And they too were a riddle. 

“But one day a stone was found with not 
only Egyptian heiroglyphics on it but another 
language! The text on this stone had been 
written in Egyptian and then copied in the 
other language. And that second language- 
ancient Greek — was known! So this enabled 
all the Egyptian writing to be translated 
and. . . .” 

The professor’s voice stopped, with a queer 
gurgle. Timkin stared. He had just handed 
him the triangular stone which had been 
among Larsoe’s “gifts.” 

“Timkin!” screeched the professor. “This 
is it! This stone has two sets of writing on it. 
One is the unknown script of the first moon. 
And the other is — oh, thank the stars! — it’s 
early Rhean, which is a language we know!” 
It was all rather confusing for Timkin after 
that. The professor bawled at the top of his 
voice and more men came rushing out. They 
all fell to talking as if the greatest event in 
the history of the universe had taken place, 
Timkin hovered on the outskirts of the group, 
forgotten for the time being. 

But then all the men turned to him. They 
looked at him as if he were some king or 
some awesome potentate from another star. 

“And there, gentlemen!” said Professor 
Blick, waving at him, “is the man who 
brought the stone back!” 

Timkin was in an agony of embarrassment 
as one by one the archeologists came up and 



shook his hand silently with reverent respect 
in their eyes. 

“Professor,” pleaded Timkin when this 
ordeal was over. “I — I want to get away. 
Just pay me for the stone, and let me go. 
If it’s so important to you, maybe you could 
up the price a little, eh? Maybe— uh — ^a 
hundred dollars?” 

Timkin was amazed at his own audacity. 

T he professor looked at him queerly, 
almost pityingly, and said slowly, “One 
hundred dollars? Timkin, you don’t realize 
the value of this stone. The museum will 
make you out a check for one hundred 
thousand SS-dollars!” 

Timkin stood stunned, unbelieving. 

The professor smiled. 

“Yes, that’s what I said — one hundred 
thousand. If we could afford it, we’d pay 
you ten times that. Actually,' you see, the 
stone is priceless. The check will be sent to 
you. You can go now, Timkin.” 

Timkin drove the rocket ti'uck back, in a 
dream, and passed a red light. The traffic 
cop wrote a ticket. 

“That’ll cost you twenty-five dollars, bud,” 
he growled. 

Timkin burst out laughing and kept laugh- 
ing all the way back to the garage. He was 
fined 25 dollars. It would have been an 
economic tragedy before. Now it was a joke. 
He could pay a hundred fines like that and 
still laugh. 

The next day, when the check arrived at 
his room, Timkin knew it was not a dream. 
The amount was 150,000 dollars. They had 
even upped the price voluntarily. 

Timkin went out, with the check in his 
pocket, and headed for the Spaceman’s Nook. 
He had one more piece of unfinished business 
to do. He knew he would find Huck Larsoe 
there and saw liim at a corner table. Strange- 
ly he seemed depressed, not at all like a man 
who had just brought in a fortune in gold. 
“Hello, Huck!” 

Larsoe looked up sourly as Timkin sat 
down cheerfully. 

“Listen, punk, you got nothing on me,” he 
growled. 

“I know,” said Timkin. “But why so glum? 
What did you get for my — pardon me, your 
— gold bonanza when you cashed it in?” 
Larsoe smashed his fist down on the table, 
spilling his drink. 

“Don’t talk to me about that blasted bo- 
nanza!” he roared. “You know what it was? 



THE RING 

It was just plain rock with a film of rich gold 
ore over it. A fake! A flop! I just got enough 
out of it to pay expenses and that’s all.” 
"Too bad,” Timkin grinned, feeling his cup 
running over. 

“Oh, don’t go gloating,” said Larsoe. “I 
still put one over on you. I took the thing 
away from you, didn’t I?” 

“Sure,” agreed Timkin. “But you gave 
me something back which was worth — ” 

At this moment, Larsoe sat up, as some- 
thing came over the tavern radio, working 
through the hum. An announcer was say- 
ing. . . . 

“ — ^biggest news of the day! The Saturn 
Museum has just annormced the find of a 
carved stone, from the rings, which will allow 
them to translate all the hitherto unknowm 
writings of the first moon! And in honor of 
the man who brought it back from the rings, 
they have named it — the Timkin Stone!” 
Timkin was shocked himself. His name 



BONANZA 63 

would reverberate down through the ages 
now, attached to a stone as famed as the 
Rosetta Stone of earth! 

But the effect on Huck Larsoe was like 
that of a knife in his heart. He turned slow, 
strmned eyes to his companion. 

“Th-the Timkin Stone?” he mumbled. 
“What—” 

Timkin drew the check out of his pocket 
and showed it to Larsoe. 

“Yes, I brought it in. Look, they payed me 
one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for 
it. And Huck — I hope you have a strong 
heart — Huck, that stone was among the stuff 
you gave me after stealing my bonanza!” 

“Then I made the find!” yelled Larsoe. 
“It’s me they should name the stone after. 
And you’ve got to turn over that money to 
me, Timkin! It’s mine! I found the stone 
and. . . .” 

Timkin looked him straight in the eye 
and said quietly, “Any witnesses, Huck?” 




Kim Rendell Battles Again to Save the 
Second Galaxy from Attack! 

W HEN the prison world of Adea, outpost of freedom, vanishes into nothingness, 

Kim Rendell sets forth in the “Starshine” to find out why — and his discoveries 
make tyrants tremble! 

Follow Kim Rendeli's exploits as he struggles to save the freedom-loving Second 
Galaxy from being brought under the control of the disciplinary circuit in the hands 
of unscrupulous fiends! 

THE BOOMERANG CIRCUIT, a novel by MURRAY LEINSTER, is the third of a 
series of distinguished narratives featuring Kim Rendell. Whether or not you have 
read the previous stories, you will enjoy THE BOOMERANG CIRCUIT, one of the 
many splendid reading treats in the June issue of our companion magazine — 

THRILLING WONDER STORIES 



NOW ON SALE — 15c AT ALL STANDS! 



THE LIEE E)ETOUIl 

By DAVID H. KELLEB 



Henry Cecil thought he was benefiting his fellows when he 
was ordered to install a new type of water for them — but 
his fiancee awoke to what the rulers really had in mind! 



T HANKS!” 

“No need of 
thanking me,” in- 
sisted Primus. “There is 
only one reason for your 
being invited to come 
over the bridge, and that 
is your own ability. The 
Upperons are always 
ready to advance any of 
the Otherons who show 
ability to add to the wel- 
fare of our city. Our pro- 
motion experts have had you in mind for 
some time. 

“Your work in Electrochemistry has more 
than excited our admiration — in fact we are 
slightly envious of your ability to do things 
that most of us can only imagine in our 
dreams. Here is your permit to cross the 
Bridge and stay across. Congratulations! I 
believe that still greater honors are in store 
for you.” 

The young scientist looked out of the win- 
dow. He was on the upper story of a tall 
building erected on the top of a mountain. 
Far below him, across a chasm, was the other 
part of the city, the home of the Otherons. 
Connecting the two sections was a Bridge, 
hung like a spider’s thread, glistening in the 
sunlight, beautifully clean, as all the city was. 
It was the Bridge. 

Every Otheron child was taught that per- 
haps some day he might cross that bridge. 
Every Otheron mother hoped that her son 
would be foimd worthy of such an honor. 
Now and then some one did — ^not often, but 
frequently enough to keep hope alive in the 
hearts of the workers. 

Slowly through the decades, each filled 
with more advancement than past centuries, 
cities like Victorus had developed. Slowly 
there had come a cleavage between the work- 
ers and the rulers, the voters and the poli- 
ticians, those who made wealth and those 
who saved it 

Increase in knowledge had brought free- 
dom from disease, machinery had liberated 




muscles and abundant leisure had given op- 
portunity for interesting hours of study and 
happy hours of play. The city was clean, all 
lives being relatively luxurious. But in spite 
of everything the Bridge had been built, 
first as a symbol, then as a concrete idea, 
at last as a shining, shimmering reality. 

The slaves and nobles, the workers and the 
merchants, the voters and the politicians had 
slowly, by a process of social evolution, 
changed into the Upperons and the Otherons. 
There was not much difference between their 
physiological existences, but their spiritual 
lives held nothing in common. The only 
bond between them was the Bridge. 

Henry Cecil walked back across the Bridge. 
It was the law that when the Otherons were 
called to Primus they had to walk. The 
young inventor, living in the shadow of the 
Bridge all his life, had not been on it till 
that day. Till then it had been only a thing 
of beauty, rainbowed across the sky. 

He had dreamed of crossing it. He had 
even daydreamed of the time when he would 
become an Upperon. Now he was actually 



EDITOR’S NOTE 



SCIENTIFiaiON 




S OME stories are forgotten 
almost as soon as they are 
printed. Others stand the test 
of time. 

Because “The Life Detour,” 
by David H. Keller, M'.D., has 
stood this test, it has been 
nominated for SCIENTIFIC- 
TION’S HALL OF FAME and 
is reprinted here. 



In each issue we will honor one of the most out- 
standing fantasy classics of all time as selected by our 
readers. 



We hope in this way to bring a new permanence to 
the science fiction gems of yesterday and to perform 
a real service to the science fiction devotees of today 
and tomorrow. 



Nominate your own favorites! Send a letter or post- 
card to The Editor, STARTLING STORIES, 10 East 40th 
St., New York 16, N. Y. All suggestions are more than 
welcome! 



Copyright, 1934, by Continental Publications, Inc. 

64 





on it, going back home, back to his family, 
back to the girl who had inspired him up- 
ward in his electrical researches. 

He was happy. It was not only a rainbow 
with a pot of gold at the other end but he 
had crossed and found the treasure. Now 
he was going back to tell how the almost 
impossible had become reality. 

From the office window Primus watched 
the boy, just a speck moving along the top 
of the Bridge. Primus was smiling. He had 
reason to smile. Something that he had 
been waiting for a long time had happened. 
Not having the intelligence to force the an- 
swer, he had to wait till someone else found 
it for him. 

Once found, he had imagination enough to 
use the information. It was information that 
had made him Primus, in fact, it was just 
that psychological quality, the ability to keep 
one jump ahead, to see what was going to 



come before it did come, that enabled the 
Upperons to become what they were. 

MffE PUSHED a few buttons, calling the 
ffiff Decimals into his office. These ten, with 
Primus at their head, ruled Victorus. Up 
to the present time the wisdom of their rule 
was shown by the fact that they were still 
rulers. Otherwise they could not have sur- 
vived. 

“The time has come!” he said briefly, with 
a smile. They all knew what he meant. It 
had been their dream for years, not often 
spoken of, rarely discussed, yet never far 
from their consciousness. Now, with op- 
portunity in his grasp, the instrument in his 
bands. Primus felt that there was no longer 
need of hesitant speech or delayed action. 

“Modern machinery has so simplified the 
mechanics of life,” he began, “that there is 
no longer any real need for the Otherons in 




STARTLING STORIES 



66 

the future social structure. Yet there they 
are. We have looked after their every need, 
safeguarded their health, provided for them 
so amply that they have simply survived. 

“Contraception might have served our 
purpose, but we did not provide for the 
survival of the maternal instinct. The old- 
fashioned ideas concerning love and family, 
home and children, survived rather, much as 
the old ideas of magic and religion. Thus we 
had the unique experience of seeing a part 
of life live on when it really had survived 
its usefulness. 

“Unfortunately for us, the moral code was 
so much a part of our personality that no 
one could consider wholesale murder for a 
moment, deliberate race destruction. I am 
sure that none of you would entertain such 
an idea for a second. Yet there was always 
the danger that some one of them would tire 
of a life of perfect social servitude and 
long for one of imperfect social freedom, if 
you understand what I mean. 

“Can you imagine the thought of all the 
Otherons wanting to cross the Bridge at the 
same time? So far, they have had the in- 
telligence to do so if they wanted to but 
none of them have had the imagination to 
see what would happen if they did. The 
thought has at times caused me insomnia. 
Now I have the solution. The time has come 
for action!” 

“What is the method?” asked one of the 
Decimals. 

“Very simple,” was the quiet answer. “All 
the luxuries, all the necessities, clothing, 
food, entertainment, even the conditioned 
air used in the twenty-four-hour day of the 
Otherons, come indirectly from us. As hu- 
manitarians, as philanthropists, we want to 
see them well cared for. We have allowed 
them to benefit from every new invention, 
every scientific attainment. I intend to do 
just this — once more.” 

“Do you mean that you are going to be 
kind to them?” asked a Decimal. 

“Exactly. I am going to give them a better 
form of water to drink — heavy water. Since 
you are not real scientists, that will have 
to be explained to you. Today I issued a per- 
mit to Henry Cecil, a brilliant Otheron, to 
cross the Bridge. He will meet with us to- 
morrow and tell us all about it. 

“This wonderful young man has intelli- 
gence but no imagination — so he has not the 
slightest idea as to what it is all about. That 
will be all for today. You can spend the 
next day trying to imagine what life will 
really mean to us if our problem is solved.” 

“I suppose there is no other way,” whis- 
pered a Decimal. “Still there are nearly 
one hundred thousand of them, and some of 
them seem interesting personalities.” 



“But they are not Upperons!” retorted 
Primus sharply. 

“No, I admit that — just Otherons.” 

“They have ceased to fight,” cried Primus. 
“They have become contented. All contented 
life has to die. And remember this. Some 
day the decision has to be reached. Either 
we die or they do. Victorus is not large 
enough for both of us. The Bridge is not 
strong enough to save us if they develop 
imagination.” 

“It looks strong to me,” answered a Deci- 
mal, “but I suppose if they all had the ssune 
idea at the same time anything might hap- 
pen.” 

“To us!” cried Primus, finishing the sen- 
tence. “Tomorrow at two we will meet here 
with Henry Cecil and listen to his lecture on 
his new discovery.” 

TP HE young inventor was warmly greeted 
by Primus and the Decimals. They wel- 
comed him as a new Upperon. One Decimal 
patted him on the back. Another prophesied 
that some day he would be found worthy to 
become a Decimal. 

The young man knew his history. He 
thought that his present position was almost 
equal to that of an old-time United States 
Senator — when there was a United States 
and Senators. 

Everybody was seated comfortably. They 
even made the young inventor occupy a 
chair. 

“Now tell us all about it, professor,” said 
Primus, jovially. “Put it in simple language, 
something that can be understood by the 
sixteen-year old mind. You see we are not 
highly educated as you Otherons are.” 

“There is not much to say,” replied the 
inventor. He really looked like a boy in com- 
parison to the eleven hard-faced business 
men who faced him. “Water, as you all know 
is simply two parts of hydrogen and one 
part of oxygen. One day some of us found 
that there was a hydrogen of double atomic 
weight and we called that substance Deu- 
terium. 

“It combined with oxygen just as the light 
hydrogen did and produced water, only it 
was heavy water. If we use D for the symbol 
of the new hydrogen, then the formula for 
the new water would be DjO instead of 
HoO. Still water, you understand, but differ- 
ent. 

“Naturally, we wanted to find if this new 
water existed in nature or was only a labora- 
tory novelty. We found that in every five 
thousand gallons of ordinary water one gal- 
lon could be separated of the heavy water. 
When water was taken from different places, 
the proportion was different. 

“Sea water from the depths, half a mile 



THE LIFE 

under the surface, contained much more 
than rain water. Of course, we could make 
it in the laboratory, but it was expensive — 
about six thousand dollars to produce one 
pint. We even found that there was a 
water containing three parts of hydrogen. 
There was one gallon of that to every bil- 
lion gallons of water. 

“After the work was finished I sent in the 
usual report and almost forgot about it till 
the order came to find some method of manu- 
facturing it in large amounts. It was a little 
intricate, but I was finally able to tear some 
Deuterium into two parts. 

“One part I used as a target and the other, 
converted into duetons, served as bullets to 
fire at the target. That speeded the process 
up, increased the amount of heavy water 
and lowered the cost. I have a machine in 
mind that can be attached to the water plant 
of Victorus so that all the water can be con- 
verted into heavy water as it flows into the 
distributing pipes.” 

“That is fine!” commented Primus. “And 
who are the ‘we’ you speak of as doing all 
this work?” 

Cecil laughed. 

“As a matter of fact,” he replied almost 
bashfully, “I did most of the work myself. 
There are very few men in our laboratory 
that have cared to bother much with these 
higher types of electro-chemical study.” 
“Just as I thought. You are the one who 
deserves all the credit and I am glad that you 
were recognized as being worthy to pass 
over the Bridge. Now what will this heavy 
water do if a person drinks it all the time?” 
“I don’t know. I have been so busy work- 
ing out the scientific side of its manufacture 
on a large scale that I never thought of its 
use. I suppose it is just like any other water, 
but much^ — • I know what it will do! It has 
powerful germicidal properties.” 

“Fine! Wonderful! The very thing!” almost 
shouted Primus. “A water that is a powerful 
germicide, circulating through every part of 
the body, destroying germs of every kind, 
killing all new growths, a panacea that will 
prolong life. You will go down in history 
as one of the great benefactors to mankind. 

“You go back to the water works and build 
your apparatus so that the water can be 
changed. For the time being only use it on 
the supply going to the Otherons. They are 
our special responsibility. The welfare of 
Victorus depends on their welfare. 

“For the time being, we Upperons will 
drink the old-fashioned water. Now, is there 
anything we can do for you? Any special 
favor you want to ask?” 

The young man blushed as he almost whis- 
pered his answer. 

“Indeed there is. You see, I am in love. 



DETOUR 67 

Wonderful young woman. Perhaps you gen- 
tlemen know what it is to be in love? If I 
cross the Bridge and leave her on the other 
side it will be the end of everything. I can- 
not do my best work, thinking she is un- 
happy. I wonder if you could let her cross 
the Bridge? Then we could both be Up- 
perons, happy Upperons.” 

Primus smiled. “We will think it over. In 
spite of our age, the Decimals and I were 
once young. The idea is unusual but it may 
be arranged, my boy, it may be arranged. 
Now hurry back and give the Otherons their 
supply of heavy water as soon as you can. 
And we will be seeing you soon.” 

They waited till he had left the room, kept 
silent till they saw him hasten across the 
Bridge, waited till he vanished, a little speck 
on the other side. 

Then they started to laugh — just hearty, 
masculine laughter. 

“A perfect fool!” cried Primus between 
his gales of merriment. “He thinks that the 
world is his oyster and all he has to do is 
to open it.” 

UDDENLY one of the Decimals stopped 
laughing. He looked almost sober. 

“What would happen if he found out your 
intentions. Primus?” he asked. 

“He won’t!” sneered Primus, laughing on. 
“He hasn’t enough imagination.” 

Henry Cecil began to work in earnest. He 
worked all day and part of the night but 
found time to see a little of Ruth Fanning, 
the young woman he wanted some day to 
take over the Bridge with him. 

Instead of love he talked to her about his 
work. Instead of kissing her, he drew pic- 
tures of his new machinery on the table- 
cloth. Finally she did not know whether he 
was in love with her or heavy water. But 
that did not stop his enthusiasm for his 
laboratory or his love for her. He even 
brought her a four- ounce bottle of his new 
product. 

“Look at it, Ruth,” he said. “Just a little 
there but do you know what it means to us? 
Suppose you try to imagine a lot of it, a 
river of it, and on that river will float a 
little boat on and on till we finally live with 
the Upperons. It is not a Bridge that will 
take us there, my dear, but a stream of my 
heavy water.” 

“I am not sure that we will be happier as 
Upperons,” she sighed. 

“Nonsense! Why, everybody is happier 
when they are Upperons.” 

“Why are they so anxious to change the 
water they give us?” 

“So that we shall be healthier, live longer. 
It is an ideal medicine, almost a panacea. 
You ought to see it kill germs in a test tube.” 



68 STARTLING STORIES 



"Are they going to drink it?” 

“Certainly, but Primus told me to give the 
first supply to the Otherons. There is a grand 
man, Ruth; I want you to meet him. You 
know, he is really a human being. We Other- 
ons have had a wrong idea about him and 
the Decimals. They are doing everything 
they can to make life pleasant and sweet for 
everyone in Victorus. 

“I must be going. I will be over tomorrow 
evening. In about one week the rush will be 
over and then we can talk about that boat 
trip — you know — symbolic trip on the stream 
of heavy water. We will amount to some- 
thing when we are Upperons.” 

Ruth Fanning smiled a little sadly as she 
watched him leave the house. She wondered 
if the Upperon ladies played good contract 
bridge and just how they dressed. She had 
never been over the Bridge. 

A week later Primus and the Decimals 
visited the water works of Victorus in com- 
pany with Henry Cecil. The inventor ex- 
plained everything to them. The machinery 
to make heavy water in large amounts was 
complete. All that was necessary was to 
start it by pressing a button. 

Primus thought that there should be some 
public ceremony in which Cecil could be 
thanked for his contribution to the health 
of the city. Cecil begged to be excused. It 
was finally decided that nothing should be 
said. 

The inventor on a certain day should press 
the button and keep still. Proper recogni- 
tion would come in time. He was to press 
the button and then marry and go on an ex- 
tended honeymoon, after which he and his 
bride were to cross the Bridge and stay 
across. 

Back in the private office of Primus one 
of the Decimals took him to one side and 
asked, “What will Cecil do when he comes 
back at the end of the month and finds out 
what has happened to the Otherons?” 

“I imagine that he will kill himself,” was 
the smooth reply. “If he fails to do it some- 
thing else will happen to him. I will think 
it over.” 

Ruth Fanning had two kittens. That was 
one of the atavistic traits of the Otherons — 
they remained fond of pets. She also had 
imagination. That v/as something that v/as 
not suspected. Hardly any of the Otherons 
possessed this peculiar psychological trait. 
It was almost unknown. Generation after 
generation had led such perfect mechanical 
lives that the idea of looking forward to see 
what might happen rarely occurred to them. 

Ruth Fanning had two kittens, imagina- 
tion and four ounces of heavy water. As 
soon as Henry Cecil left she began to com- 
bine the three things. She took one kitten 



and placed it in a cage in her bedroom and 
she took the other kitten and placed it in an- 
other cage in her bedroom. 

She treated both kittens alike but three 
times a day she mixed with the milk one kit- 
ten received a teaspoonful of heavy water. 
The first dose was given when the family 
was away from home. It was a good thing. 
The kitten was certainly a happy little thing. 
It jumped, played, turned somersaults and 
had the best time a kitten could possibly 
have. 

It had energy enough for ten kittens, and 
it made a lot of enthusiastic, melodious 
noises. Ruth had never seen a kitten act 
that way. Even the other kitten was aston- 
ished at the unusual feline conduct. Ruth 
made notes on a tablet. She was more than 
interested. But she did not tell Henry Cecil. 

Five days later he told her the final details 
of his plan. The machinery was finished. 
The room it was in was locked and sealed. 
Everything was automatic and would run for 
one month without human interference or 
supervision. 

Two days later he would press the button, 
lock and seal the room, marry her and they 
would go to Asia for twenty- eight days of 
pleasure. On their return they would become 
really, truly, Upperons for the rest of their 
lives. Primus was going to pay all the ex- 
penses for the month. 

It was then that Ruth said, “Do you re- 
member my two kittens?” 

“Yes, I do seem to remember that you had 
two, but I have not been seeing them lately.” 

“I have them in cages up in my room. Come 
up and look at them.” 

ffN ONE cage Cecil saw a kitten, just a 
*■- little, playful kitten, but rather unhappy 
and lonely and not enjoying the confinement. 
In the other cage was a cat, and old cat, that 
looked as though she had lost eight of her 
nine lives. 

“I thought you said you had two kittens, 
Ruth?” he asked. 

“I had, five days ago, but something has 
happened to one of them. Here are my 
notes. The poor thing has aged ten years 
in five days.” 

The inventor sat down and read the notes. 
He read the entries made three times a day; 
he looked at the cats. Then he read Ruth’s 
notes all over again. Suddenly he jumped 
up and shouted, 

“Well, I’ll be—” 

“Don’t swear, Henry,” pleaded Ruth. “That 
will not help any. Just try to think what it 
means. Use your imagination.” 

“It is too late. What a fool I was! Deci- 
mals patting me on the back and telling me 
what a great mind I had. Primus offering to 



THE LIFE DETOUR 



pay for our wedding trip and urging me not 
to hurry back, suggesting that I have the 
door to the machine-room locked and sealed 
and take the key with me. Do you know 
what they intended to do to the Otherons?” 

“What happened to the cat?” 

“They cannot do this to me!” cried the 
enraged man. “Make a fool and a murderer 
out of me! I am going across the Bridge and 
teU them a thing or two.” 

“No. You will do nothing of the kind. 
You would never come back. Go on with 
your plans, only change something or other, 
so they will be disappointed.” 

He banged his fist on the cage so hard 
that the senile cat jumped. 

“I have it!” he shouted. “Everything will 
go through just as it has been arranged for. 
We will even have our trip. Just you go on 
sewing and leave it to me, Ruth — leave— it — 
to — ^me.” 

“I knew you would be able to think of 
something. You are a real inventor, Henry.” 

“I’ll say I am,” he replied, kissing her, 
then dashing out of the room. 

Two days later Henry Cecil and Ruth Fan- 
ning walked across the Bridge. They went 
directly to see Primus. He was waiting for 
them, alone. 

“I have come to report, sir,” said the 
inventor, “that all of your orders have been 
carried out. The machinery to make heavy 
water has been started, the room locked and 
sealed. I have the only key and am taking it 
with me. Now if there is nothing more, we 
will be married and start for Asia. And thank 
you very much for your kindness to both 
of us, sir.” 

The great man fairly beamed his happiness 
as he folded his effusive benevolence around 
them like a cloud with a golden lining. 

“You have deserved all we have done for 
you and your beautiful bride, my dear boy,” 
he said. “And one thing more — one of the 
Decimals is thinking of retiring from public 
life. You are being spoken of as being a 
proper person to take his place. How does 
that suit you? Mrs. Cecil will be in her 
proper place then. 

“Lots of the Upperon ladies will be glad 
to entertain her. She is Upperon class, my 
boy — I can see that at once. Call on our 
treasurer for funds and do not stint your- 
self. I want you to have a wonderful time. 
Good-bye and good luck to you.” 

They left him after expressing their thanks. 

“A wonderful man. He certainly has imagi- 
nation,” whispered Ruth. 

“Not quite as much as you have,” an- 
swered Henry, also in a whisper, “but I think 
that we had better start for Asia just as fast 
as we can.” 

Thirty days later they returned to Vic- 



69 

torus and went at once to Ruth’s home. Her 
parents welcomed her. 

“Anything new?” she asked. “You cer- 
tainly look well.” 

Mrs. Fanning insisted that she had never 
felt better. Mr. Fanning said that there was 
no special news except that the Upperons 
were somewhat quiet and keeping to them- 
selves, but that the Otherons were taking 
care of their part of the city with their 
usual efficiency. 

No one had crossed the Bridge — so there 
was no news. One of Ruth’s cats was dead 
but the other was growing nicely. 

’The young people looked at each other. 

The next morning the young inventor sug- 
gested to his bride that they take a walk. 
She was ready for a little exercise but was 
somewhat surprised when she found where 
she was going. 

“I have to go,” he insisted, “and you have 
to go with me. I never like to start any ex- 
periment without finishing it. I 'suppose it 
is my scientific complex. I not only want 
to know what has happened to the Upperons 
— I must know. It may be dangerous but I 
doubt it. Somebody has to go and who else 
should it be but the two of us?” 

They reached the Bridge and walked with- 
out a pause till they reached the center. 
There, poised over the chasm, they stopped 
and leaned over the guard rail. It was a 
beautiful spring morning. Far below, a 
mountain stream complained of its having 
to keep on dashing aimlessly to the sea. Just 
above them a robin had built a nest in the 
heavy wires. Around them was silence, 
thick, intangible, peculiar. 

“It is so still here,” whispered the woman. 

“It is always still but today it is oppres- 
sive,” replied her husband. 

'’■''HEY went into the city of the Upperons. 

No one was on the streets. No one seemed 
to be in the magnificent castle, the upper floor 
of which served as an office for Primus. No 
one answered the push button calling for 
the elevator. 

“We shall have to walk,” at last explained 
Cecil. “I know where the steps are because 
I ran down them once. I was so anxious to 
see you and tell you that I had my pass and 
was going to be an Upperon that I could not 
wait for the elevator. Come on. It is only 
twenty-five stories.” 

No one was in the waiting room, no one 
in the inside office and then — at his desk sat 
Primus. 

“He was an old man — in fact, a very old 
man. Everything was old about him except 
his eyes. 'They had the hatred of youth in 
their venomous gleam. 

“So you have come back, Cecil?” he asked. 



70 STARTLING STORIES 



“I knew you would.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the inventor. “YoU 
see, the vacation was over, so I had to come 
back and go to work again. I am reporting 
for duty and there seemed to be no one to 
report to but you, sir.” 

“I was waiting for you,” whispered the 
shaking senile sullenly. “I knew you would 
come. I was waiting for you. The others all 
died but I kept on living on bottled grape - 
juice and crackers, waiting till you came 
back. If you had stayed, you would have 
laughed as loudly as the rest. 

“It was a madhouse for the first few days. 
Every Upperon was laughing. They were as 
happy as human beings could be. They were 
so happy that they could not be serious and 
find out what they were happy about. Up- 
perons who had never laughed were splitting 
their sides over nothing at all. 

“For a little while I tried to give orders, 
tried to make them stop drinking the water 
after I had suspected what you had done — 
but they thought it a great joke. Laughing 
water, that is what they called it. They 
stopped their alcoholics and got a better kick 
out of the water. 

“And then they went back to their houses 
and lost interest and grew old and died. 
Think of it! Every Upperon died of old age 
in a month, all except me, and I guess I am 
done for. What did you do to us, Cecil? You 
didn’t have time to do much. My experts in- 
spected the machinery just before you started 
it. It was all right then.” 

“What did you intend doing to the Other- 
ons. Primus?” 

“Whatever it was it was not to happen to 
us. Did the Otherons die as we did?” 

“Oh! No indeed,” answered the woman. 
“You see, they kept on drinking plain water.” 
“It was this way, Primus,” explained Henry 
Cecil and there was a certain sympathy in his 
voice. “Ruth had imagination and she put 
that and four ounces of heavy water and two 
kittens to work and then we saw what your 
idea was. You must have thought you could 
get along without the Otherons. 

“I had to keep quiet. If I had told my 
friends they would have become excited and 
might have tried to cross the Bridge, and 
then someone would have been hurt, maybe 
killed. And I did not want to be killed my- 

NEXT ISSUE’S HALL 



self just when Ruth was expecting me to 
marry her. 

“But I had to do something. Under the 
water works, in the basement, there are two 
twelve-inch water pipes, one furnishing the 
water to one side of the Bridge and the sec- 
ond to the other side. Of course, as soon as 
the heavy water machinery was turned on 
it would supply the pipe leading to the 
Otherons’ homes. 

“I went down there and put on a double 
detour. I crossed the pipes. Then, after I 
started the heavy water machinery, the new 
water started to supply the Upperons. Of 
course, I was not sure what it would do to 
you but I knew what it did to Ruth’s cat.” 

He paused long enough to draw a picture. 

The old man took the picture and held it 
close to his near-sighted eyes so he couM 
see it better. 

“We were wiped out by a detour,” he 
sighed. He tried to sit up in his chair. “What 
are you going to do now? With the Decimals 
and the Primus dead, what are you going to 
do? Who is going to run Victorus?” 

“It seems to be doing pretty well without 
you,” answered the woman. “After all, you 
were only great and powerful because none 
of the Otherons had imagination to see you 
for what you really were — or that none of 
the Upperons were really necessary to the 
life and welfare of the real city. Henry and 
I will go back and if there is a need for lead- 
ership, I think my husband and I have 
enough imagination to take charge of things. 
They may some day call him Primus.” 

But the old man had died in his chair. 

Back they went down the stairs, throu^ 
the city of the dead and out on the Bridge. 
Ruth took a visiting card and stuck it und^ 
a robin’s nest. On it she had written; 

NO THOROUGHFARE 
CLOSED FOR REPAIRS 

“And now I guess I will have to get a new 
job,” sighed the inventor. 

“You have one,” answered Ruth. “You 
are going to be the first mayor of Victorus 
and I am glad it aU happened as it did. I do 
not believe I should have liked living with 
those Upperon ladies. I bet they played rot- 
ten bridge.” 

OF FAME CLASSIC - 



THE CIRCLE OF ZERO 



By 

STANLEY G. WEINBAUM 



OPEHATION ASDEVLANT 

By LT. COMBR. WARREN GIJTHRIR EISNR 

In a future war, the greatest menace we may have to combat is 
likely to be the highly scientific undersea raiders of the foe! 



E DITOR’S NOTE: Lieutenant Commander 

Guthrie is one man who knows whereof he 
speaks — both in the matter of submarines and 
aerial missiles. Bom in Syracuse, Nebraska, in 
1911, he took an A.B. at Nebraska Wesleyan, an 
M.A, at the University of Michigan and won his 
Ph.D. at Northwestern. Since 1934 he has been 
a member of the faculty of Western Reserve. 

During the war, Commander Guthrie attended 
the Air Combat Intelligence School, studied anti- 
submarine technique aboard the U.S.S. Santee, 
served as assistant to the Tactical Officer, Anti- 
Submarine Development Detachment, Atlantic 
Fleet and was Air Combat Intelligence Officer 
aboard the big carrier, U.S.S. Bonhomme Richard. 

So when Commander Guthrie paints us a pic- 
ture of the turns a third world war could 
well take, he is not talking wildly. We believe 
that this quiet and scholarly discussion of pos- 
sible future warfare has a real place in a maga- 
zine dedicated to science fiction. 

I T’S a moonless night along the coast of 
industrial New England. Giant radar 
stations sweep the sky. An attack by 
enemy buzz bombs packed with atomic 
catastrophe is expected. It’s known that 
country X is about to move and America 
wants no second Pearl Harbor in World War 
III. 

Far north, across the wastes of the Arctic, 
fly our defensive patrols, set to intercept 
possible long range missiles. But, even as 
the whole defensive system swings into pro- 
tective action; the dark water breaks 
smoothly over radar-camouflaged domes of 
enemy submarines coming up for a final sur- 
vey before the attack. 

At H-hour minus 5 minutes, the sleek, 
black hulls break water off New York, off 
Boston, Block Island, Cape May, Norfolk 
and Charleston. 

Allowances are made for wind and air 
density, launching rails are adjusted and the 
enemy bombs are underway on their short 
range, low-level flight to the industrial and 
population heart of America. With all forces 
alerted to air attack, the telling blow that 



might win the war for the enemy has come, 
as in World Wars I and II, from under the 
sea. 

Fantastic? No. Listen to the testimony of 
Admiral Jonas Ingram, Commander in Chief, 
Atlantic Fleet: 

“It is definitely possible for New York to 
be attacked by enemy buzz bombs launched 




OiJicial U. S. Navy Photos 

The Stars and Stripes fly above the Swastika on the first 
submarine captured intact by the U. S. Navy 



from submarines. Near the end of the Eu- 
ropean War we were forced to alert New 
York against such an attack.” 

And, remember. Admiral Ingram was talk- 
ing about yesterday’s submarine- — for even 
a beaten and battered Germany was ready 
with a new and vastly improved U-boat 



The Story of Anti^Siibniarine Warfare! 

71 



72 STARTLING STORIES 



when the Army finally ended the long battle 
of the Atlantic and the victorious Allies 
marched into Berlin. 

Listen to Captain A. B. Vosseller, Com- 
mander of the Anti-submarine Development 
Detachment of the Atlantic Fleet during the 
grim days of the Battle of the Atlantic: 

“The most dangerous offensive weapon of 
the next war may well be a bomb launching 
submarine.” 

Civilians Warn Us, Too 

Want civilian confirmation? Here is the 
word of Dr. Charles Squires, long time 
member of the Navy’s famed Anti-submarine 
Warfare Operational Research Group. “Ger- 
man buzz-bomb attacks on New York were 
planned for 1945,” he says. “In the next war, 
if it comes, such attacks appear inevitable.” 

There, then, is the sober judgment of men 
who know the facts about submarine war- 
fare. In planning our defense against possible 
aggression in the future, let’s not sell anti- 
submarine forces short. 

How can we lick the submarine in to- 
morrow’s war? The Navy believes it has 
foimd the answer — and that answer is con- 
tinued experiment and research on counter- 
weapons and tactics. For the submarine, in 
two wars, has driven us to the ragged edge 
of disaster when postwar complacency saw 
us assume that the fight was won and that 
the submarine was an outmoded weapon. 
We cannot afford to chance disaster again. 

Have We Forgotten? 

With our traditionally short memory for 
defeats we want to forget — ^most of us have 
completely forgotten — those days of 1942 that 
saw the Axis sink ships faster than our 
wartime yards could build them. Then the 
glow of burning ships was seldom absent 
from our east coast. Our beaches from At- 
lantic City to Miami were black with the 
scum of fuel oil desperately needed for the 
decisive battles in Europe and Africa. 

Iron crosses came easily to U-boat cap- 
tains in those days. The climax arose in May 
and June when more than 260 ships were 
sunk by German submarines while anti-sub- 
marine forces all over the world could claim 
only 14 U-boats destroyed. 

A valiant England, battered but victorious 
in the air, was on the verge of defeat be- 
cause, while the air battles got the headlines, 



submarines were getting the ships and sup- 
plies without which Britain could not survive. 

U-Boats Grow Bold 

And the British were unable to retaliate, 
for the U-boats, driven from Channel waters, 
were ranging arrogantly up and down our 
own East coast — often in clear view of the 
shore. The convoy system had won the anti- 
submarine war in 1917 — we had assumed it 
would win in 1942. But a defeated Germany 
had improved both her tactics and her sub- 
marines, and the convoy system was not 
working. A statement headlined from the 
Truman committee report provided tragic 
summary of the whole anti-submarine pic- 
ture: 

“These sinkings exceed the combined Al- 
lied building in 1942.” 

In 1942 we needed a coordinated anti-sub- 
marine command — trained personnel— new 
weapons — new tactics — and we needed them 
fast. We were literally exhausting our sup- 
ply of ships — and, even more serious, our 
irreplaceable supply of trained crews. 

The job of licking the submarine was tra- 
ditionally the Navy job, and with top priority 
given to anti-submarine warfare, action came 
with the necessary speed. To insure a coordi- 
nation and concentration of effort which 
would mean a minimum of delay, there was 
formed an administrative fleet without ships, 
the Tenth Fleet. It was commanded by Ad- 
miral Ernest King himself, through his Chief 
of Staff, Admiral F. S. Low. To it was 
pledged the full power of the Atlantic Fleet. 

New Weapons Are Needed 

New weapons and refinements of those 
in use were urgently needed — research and 
development could provide them. But regard- 
less of the weapons developed and the de- 
vices used, they could sink submarines only 
when brought to bear against the enemy by 
a well-trained ship or aircraft. 

Two special units were made directly re- 
sponsible to the Tenth Fleet. One, the anti- 
submarine warfare operational research 
group, was made up of civilian scientists. The 
other was the Anti-submarine Development 
Detachment (in Navy jargon, ASDEVLANT) 
charged with testing weapons, evaluating 
their tactical uses, and training squadrons. 

ASDEVLANT soon became a roster of the 
great names in anti-submarine \yarfare. 



OPERATION ASDEVLAOT 73 




The keen minds of capable U. S. naval officers direct the operations of the small carriers used against Nazi subs 

In World War II 



Commander, now Captain, A. B. Vosseller, 
assumed command. Annapolis 1924, naval 
aviator, young, aggressive, “old navy” by 
background but “young navy” in that accom- 
plishment came first, spit and polish second; 
he had commanded the Anti-submarine 
school in Boston, long been an able foe of the 
submarine. Commander C. M. Heberton was 
I S executive officer. 

Operations Officer Is Selected 

From command of a Marine squadron in 
the Caribbean came the operations officer. 
Commander John W. Gannon. Under his 
direction, with the assistance of a young An- 
napolis graduate, Lieutenant H. D. Reming- 
ton, was the training program which paid 
such rich dividends in enemy submarines 
sunk. 

Development of new weapons — the Ameri- 
can version of secret weapon in itse in con- 



trast to Goebbel’s shouted secret weapons of 
words — was under Commander D. E. Wait. 
Tactics were the basic responsibility of Lieu- 
tenant Commander G. R. Fiss, product of 
the Navy’s early aviation cadet program. 
Months before, “Doc” Fiss had matched wits 
with U-boat commanders, and won. 

These were the men to command the spe- 
cial effort to destroy the submarine menace — 
professional Navy men, skilled in their pro- 
fession. To help them came a strangely as- 
sorted variety of pilots and ground officers, 
an assortment common to America’s wartime 
navy. Pilots included men who had sighted 
subs and sunk same, boys fresh from the 
great naval training programs. 

Ground officers were typical of the naval 
reserve — here a lieutenant who had earned 
$20,000.00 a year in civilian life, beside him 
another whose annual income had been bare- 
ly a tenth of that sum. All were to be 
banded together in one effort; to smash the 



74 STARTLING STORIES 



submarine offensive. And all were convinced 
that air power could do the trick. 

Tradition was cast overboard at once, and 
ASDEVLANT became a strange spot of ap- 
parent confusion on an otherwise orderly 
naval air base. Most naval air squadrons 
had a single type plane, but ASDEVLANT 
had a hangar jammed with every kind of 
naval aircraft, from stubby Grumann fighters 
to huge four-engine bombers. Most naval 
units were either air or surface, but ASDEV- 
LANT soon had a respectable surface fleet 
of almost every known type, as well as its 
conglomeration of aircraft. 

So, too, with its personnel. Baggy tweed 
suits and bald or gray heads were almost 
as common as naval uniforms in the huge 
hangar and sprawling collection of Quonset 
huts. Every resource the Navy could com- 
mand was out to lick the submarine. 

The first problem was to utilize air power 
with full efficiency against the U-boat. For 
aircraft are, by their very nature, ideally 
suited to offensive action against submarines. 
The submarine of 1943 was primarily a sur- 
face weapon and, when driven down, was 
largely impotent. Further, aircraft, by virtue 
of their great speed and maneuverability, 
could surprise a submarine on the surface 
and attack before it could submerge. Thus, 
with air power in full use, the submarine 
shadowing a convoy or patrolling a shipping 
lane was in constant danger of swift, dis- 
astrous attack. 

First Results Are Small 

In spite of this apparent use for aircraft in 
anti-submarine warfare, their record in 
America was far from impressive. Only 11 
subs had been sunk by United States planes 
prior to 1943, and the toll of shipping de- 
stroyed showed no sign of abatement. Sound 
training and new tactics were required. 
Nineteen of every twenty subs attacked by 
aircraft in 1942 escaped to fight another day — 
but that record was to change with heart- 
warming speed. 

Defective bombing permitted subs to es- 
cape, and so up and down the waters of 
Narragansett Bay and off Block Island 
plodded ASDEVLANT’s Coast Guard cut- 
ters, towing targets at the rate of surfaced 
submarines while planes made practise 
bombing run after monotonous practise 
bombing run. 

Many pilots had never before even seen an 



undersea boat, so submarines from the great 
bases on Long Island Sound delayed their 
operational cruises to play hide and seek 
with aircraft while aviators learned the 
habits of the enemy and came to appreciate 
the tactical problem faced. 

Pilots Cruise in Subs 

Pilots, none too happily, to be sure — went 
out on the submarines for practise dives — 
saw the fearsome power of a diving aircraft 
from the submariner’s point of view. 

Submarine commanders, equally unhappy 
in most cases, took their turn in the air. In 
special search and attack exercises each pilot 
learned to use his plane to the full extent 
of its capabilities in an effort to outwit his 
submarine opponent. Soon trained Navy 
squadrons were to meet the Germans in com- 
bat all over the Atlantic — and win. 

As the squadrons rolled out in a higher 
and higher state of readiness, the toll of ships 
sunk by U-boats reached a high mark and 
then receded, for in May of 1943 the Navy 
counterattack came and more subs were sunk 
than in any earlier two-month period — more 
than half of these by aircraft. 

July of 1943 brought the first German 
counter measure to susU ed air search and 
attack. Out came the German U-boat fleet 
that had been virtually withdrawn during 
June, with a new strategy and with new 
weapons. Heavy deck guns were replaced 
with clusters of anti-aircraft weapons. Now 
the Nazis were ready to accept the challange 
of aircraft and fight it out. Not only was their 
guess a pretty questionable one to start with, 
but it became a catastrophic error as the 
Navy countered with increased fire power 
from its planes. For four action packed 
months the battle raged — submarines meet- 
ing aircraft attack on the surface, guns blaz- 
ing. 

Pilots Accept Challenge 

Navy pilots took up the challenge with the 
same reckless daring that characterized aU 
their combat operations. On two successive 
days one young flier. Lieutenant A. H. Sal- 
lenger, sighted surfaced submarines. He 
roared into his first attack through a hail of 
AA and sank the U-boat. He came through 
unscathed. 

Back on the flight deck of the U.S.S. 
Card, the “jeep” aircraft carrier from which 
he was operating, he was contemptuous of 



OPERATION 

submarine gunners’ accuracy. The following 
day he ruefully admitted to shipmates who 
spotted his rubber life raft that his judgment 
may have been a little hasty, for his second 
submarine had shot him down. Nonetheless, 
he held to his belief — and his record of four 
confirmed kills gives credence to his faith 
in aircraft weapons. 

All over the Atlantic it was the same story. 
Almost daily the Germans learned that it 



ASDEVLANT 75 

WEU’! During those same months the U-boat 
offensive in the western Atlantic saw its 
greatest failure — for the subs sank fewer than 
30 ships. 

Germans Try New Torpedo 

A German counter weapon or tactic was 
certain to follow. In October 1943, the first 
German acoustic torpedo smashed into an 




Trained personnel man the captured Nazi submarine and make fast lines to tow it into port 



made little difference where they attempted 
to operate — naval aircraft would find them. 
And be the plane a land-based four-engine 
bomber or a carrier-launched Avenger, the 
result was more and more often foredoomed. 
More than half of the attacks were ending in 
“sunk” or “probably sunk” assessments by 
conservative boards studying the evidence. 

From July through October naval aircraft 
sank 33 German submarines — ^more than 
combined United States forces could claim 
during all of the preceding months of the 



Allied convoy. Here was a truly fancy 
gadget, for it took the aiming problem out of 
the submarine picture and let the submarine 
fire with greater safety to itself and at the 
same time guaranteed an improved chance of 
a hit. 

Attracted by the sound of the ship’s pro- 
pellers, the torpedo homed on that sound 
until the hit was scored. But, with an ade- 
quate research and experimental unit already 
in action, the Navy was ready to meet the 
threat. 



76 STARTLING STORIES 



Within a matter of days German com- 
manders, closing on a convoy to fire their 
new weapons, heard a new and peculiar 
sound they dubbed the “singing saw.” Puz- 
zled and afraid the sound meant they had 
been detected, most drew back. Some of the 
more courageous fired anyway, but no sound 
of an explosion came to their ears. 

Navy's "Singing Saw" 

The “singing saw” — actually a simple 
gadget of steel bars towed behind the mer- 
chant ship and rattling like underwater 
castanets at the required sound frequency 
to attract the acoustic torpedo — was luring 
the deadly weapon to exhaustion. For the 
sound of the “singing saw” drowned out all 
ship’s noises to the sensitive ears of the 
torpedo and it circled the castanets impo- 
tently — while the convoys went through. 

In addition, constant air cover over threat- 
ened convoys made it more and more diffi- 
cult for the U-boat even to gain position 
for attack. An integrated system of air 
support gave virtually solid cover to im- 
portant convoys from port to port — land- 
based planes operating until the convoy 
was hundreds of miles from shore, where 
escort aircraft carriers took up the respon- 
sibility. 

Frustrated by day, the subs went on the 
defensive — hoped for security and a chance 
to do some damage by night attacks. Again 
the Navy was ready with new and improved 
radar equipment, and with pilots trained to 
a standard of skill never before demanded 
in aviation history. Day and night operations 
of aircraft began from aircraft carriers as 
well as from land fields. 

In addition, powerful searchlights were 
installed on anti-submarine planes of all 
types. The U-boat surfacing at night was 
no more secure than by daylight. First con- 
tact was made by radar, and then, as the 
range was closed to a little less than a mile, 
the brilliant beam was snapped on. Frozen 
with surprise— often blinded by the light — 
submarine crews had little chance to man 
their weapons before the bombs fell. 

Enemy Subs Try Again 

Still defensive, the Germans countered 
again. Since radar was required to find them, 
they equipped each submarine with a radar 
receiver which would warn of the approach 



of the feared aircraft. Thus the submarine 
could submerge as the signal grew stronger 
and while the plane was a safe distance away. 
For a time the tactic worked. The subs 
were safe, although they in turn sank few 
ships. 

Their respite, however, was brief. Pictures 
taken from aircraft when attacking sub- 
marines had shown the new device on sub- 
marine conning towers, and the “double 
domes” went to work. First it was determined 
that the device was a radar receiver antenna. 
Then out came “Vixen,” a foxy little in- 
strument to attach to our own aircraft radar. 

When a target was picked up, “Vixen” 
automatically controlled the power output 
of the radar. The signal heard by the Ger- 
man U-boat thus would seem to fade as 
though the plane was heading away from the 
submarine even as it homed in to attack. 
So, “fat, dumb and happy,” in the words of 
naval pilots, the U-boat waited for its doom. 
Again the Germans took their beating and 
by early 1944 they were losing two subs for 
every ship they managed to sink — a far cry 
from 1942! 

Navy Develops Weapons 

However, it’s not enough merely to counter 
enemy devices and tactics. New weapons 
of our own were in a constant state of de- 
velopment. 

Early in January of 1944 one of the newer 
escort aircraft carriers was running a special 
anti-submarine patrol in advance of a convoy 
enroute from Africa to England. Her air 
group was on its first operational cruise — a 
cruise that had been without incident. Gray 
early morning light saw the first combat 
patrol take the air. 

Ten minutes later history was made, for 
this was no ordinary pair of Avengers search- 
ing ahead of the ship. Beneath the wings of 
these planes hung a new weapon — aircraft 
rockets. 

Good-by, German Sub! 

Here’s the chronology of the attack: 

0714 — Launched anti-submarine patrol. 

0720 — Surfaced submarine sighted by Lt. 
(jg) McFord in TBF No. 32, who 
started approach, accompanied by 
Lt. (jg) Seeley in TBF No. 24. 

0724 — Lt. (jg) McFord made rocket attack. 
One probable hit. 



OPERATION 

0725 — Lt (jg) Seeley made rocket attack. 
Two hits. Submarine started to sub- 
merge, all but conning tower under. 
After hits by second rocket salvo, 
submarine fully surfaced and started 
left turn. 

0726 — Lt. (jg) McFord dropped depth 
charges straddling submarine at 
leading edge of conning tower. 

0730 — Submarine again started to sub- 
merge. 

0731 — Lt. (jg) Seeley dropped depth bombs 
simultaneously with submergence of 
conning tower. 

0732 — Submarine resurfaced, fifty degrees 
down by the stern. 

0736 — Large cloud of yellowish-green 
smoke arose from forty feet aft of 
conning tower. 

0746— Submarine sank, ten degrees down 
by the stern, leaving no swirl or 
wake. 

No Survivors Or Debris 

There was almost as much awe as jubila- 
tion on the flight deck as McFord and Seeley 
came home, for there had been no survivors 
and almost no debris — only a mortally 
wounded submarine out of control and sink- 
ing after the swift rocket attacks. 

Rocket attacks by another squadron were 
quick to follow. Even as McFord made his 
dive, another escort carrier cruised several 
hundred miles to the west. 

Late in the afternoon five days later, two 
of this carrier’s planes, on routine patrol, 
came on a scene that is the U-boat hunter’s 
dream. Some ten miles away were two — 
possibly three— submarines lying side by 
side. Here was a refueler — “milch cow” — 
sub at work. 

Down roared the two planes. Ensign B. J. 
Hudson had made the original sighting and 
led the way. Rockets blazed their way from 
the aircraft and two were seen to strike the 
larger U-boat, one tearing into the hull aft 
of the conning tower to come out through the 
deck. 

Ensign Drops Depth Charges 

At extreme low level, and in a dangerous 
glide, Hudson followed his rocket attack by 
dropping his depth charges, landing one 
squarely between the submarines, and made 
a violent pull out to avert a crash. Circling 



ASDEVLANT 77 

the scene he saw scores of men leave the 
submarines in panic-stricken haste and 
hurl themselves into the water. 

Now down came Ensign W. M. McLane, 
adding his Buck Rogers note to the scene as 
flaming rockets struck into the still surfaced 
submarine. His bomb drop was accurate as 
well, and first the smaller, then the larger 
submarine slid beneath the waves leaving 
dozens of Germans swimming in the debris. 

Here was a weapon of sensational value — 
used three times by Navy aircraft, and three 
submarines, in the words of our ultra-con- 
servative assessment bodies, “probably sunk.” 
But even more significant than the attacks 
themselves were the events leading up to 
them, for this completely new weapon for 
anti-submarine warfare made its kills only 
five months after first test firing of experi- 
mental rockets! 

New Rocket Is Developed 

The Navy began development of a rocket 
program in July, 1943. Test firing of the first 
Navy forward firing rocket occurred in Cali- 
fornia on August 20. Recognizing the po- 
tentialities of the weapon in anti-submarine 
work, the problem of developing needed 
equipment and of determining tactics and 
of conducting training came to ASDEVLANT. 

Working with top speed, a range was built 
on Nantucket Island. Test flights were 
flown, sights developed, aiming allowances 
computed, all theory checked by firing from 
ASDEVLANT planes. In a voluntary censor- 
ship that worked, the islanders kept the 
Navy’s secret. By December first the first 
squadron destined to use the new weapon 
against the enemy was fully trained. De- 
cember 15 saw them at sea, and in January 
the weapon — and training — proved itself. Air- 
craft rockets were in anti-submarine warfare 
to stay. 

The rockets may have frightened the Ger- 
mans more than any other weapon or device, 
but it was another gadget that really drove 
them to distraction, for they never quite 
figured it out. The expendable radio sono- 
buoy proved to be almost the top surprise 
of World War II. 

Once submerged after aircraft attack, a U- 
boat skipper felt secure. But, suddenly, in 
late 1943, that security vanished. Hours after 
submergence the submarine periscope would 
cautiously emerge only to find planes still 
circling overhead. 



78 



STARTLING STORIES 



Sono-Buoy Tracks Subs 

The explanation was use of the sono- 
buoy. When the submarine submerged, air- 
craft would lay a pattern of these buoys 
around the point of submergence. Each was 
a miniature broadcasting station transmitting 
underwater sounds to the receiver in the 
aircraft. Each had its own special frequency, 
so that there was no doubt as to which 
buoy was heard. 

Thus, as the submarine moved away from 
the point of submergence, listeners in the 
plane would hear the U-boat’s propellers 
and could, in a sense, “track” it on its escape 
route. In some cases contact was held for 
hours until surface craft reached the scene. 

As contact with the enemy grew more and 
more difficult to make, the sono-buoy took 
on ever increasing importance. It made joint 
air-surface attacks possible. Aircraft, with 
their speed and range, often made the origi- 
nal contact and attack. If the submarine was 
not sunk, contact was held by means of the 
sono-buoy until surface units were able to 
locate and destroy the enemy. 

Ceaseless Hunt Goes On 

In 1944 roving task groups hunted sub- 
marines by day and by night. Actions lasted 
for as long as 78 hours against a fighting 
and able U-boat, but more and more often 
the result was certain: 

“Task Group 21.5 sank one Uncle Boat 
Latitude 40°16'N, 13°58'W after joint air- 
surface action. Survivors including captain 
are being landed at Casablanca.” 

The task group led by the aircraft carrier 
Guadalcanal provided fitting climax when in 
June, 1944 they captured a German sub- 
marine abandoned under attack by its terror- 
struck crew, and towed it into Bermuda. 

The Germans were far from ready to give 
up though, and they now came out with their 
own prize development. The submarine of 
1943 had to surface to survive. Electric power 
drove it under the surface, and batteries 
were soon exhausted. By late 1944 the Ger- 
mans partly reduced this weakness with an 
ingenious arrangement they called “schnor- 
kel” or snout, an ungainly contraption 
mounted on the conning tower like a huge 
stove-pipe periscope. 

It provided both an air intake and an ex- 
haust vent, and so enabled the submarine 
to operate at periscope depth on the same 



diesel motors it used on the surface. There 
were many weaknesses to “schnorkel” — 
crews didn’t like it, it caused a defensive 
attitude among submariners, it was unusable 
in rough weather — ^but it meant relative 
safety from air search and attack. Neverthe- 
less, “schnorkel” thwarted the Navy’s 
avowed purpose — to exterminate the U- 
boat. 

How to Find A Schnorkel 

Already ASDEVLANT was at work t«i 
the problem — how to find the schnorkeling 
sub. From its tests came one of the wildest 
yarns of the war. We, of course, had no 
subs with schnorkels, so to conduct experi- 
ments, ASDEV needed a dummy. It’s no 
small job to build a self-propelled dummy 
smoke-stack in the water, but finally it was 
done. 

The gadget failed to function perfectly on 
its early trials, and the builder, a nationally 
famous yacht designer, out-schnorkeled the 
schnorkel. On his he built a special platform 
on which he might ride to check the perform- 
ance of his brain child. Solely in the interests 
of practical design, said platform was a 
bicycle seat — pedals provided a footrest as 
designer Burgess rode his strange craft. 

Sea-Going Bike 

First warning the Coast Guard at Newport 
had that ASDEV was off again, was the sight 
of what appeared to be a man sitting in the 
middle of Narragansett Sound. The skipper 
of the CG83374 first saw him and turned 
to the duty officer. 

“Look, I may be crazy, but I think I see 
a man out there!” 

Ordered to investigate by the outraged 
duty officer, the harbor patrol raced out to 
the apparition. Close up it looked even worse 
to the coast guardsmen’s dazed eyes — there 
on a bicycle seat, moving majestically across 
the Bay was a dignified, elderly gentleman 
in a tweed suit — ^handlebar mustache waving 
gently in the breeze of his own progress. 

Slowly Dutch Weiland wheeled his boat 
alongside. With a courtly bow the old gentle- 
man doffed his checked cap. 

“Good morning, sir,” he said, and con- 
tinued across the Bay. Without a word Dutch 
cruised back to his base. 

“Send someone else to investigate,” he 
said. “For me, it’s just ASDEVLANT again.” 



OPERATION ASDEVLANT 



And so it was, but eventually the answer 
to the schnorkel was worked out and again 
the U-boat found it had met its master. New 
and improved radar picked up even the weak 
echo from the “smokestack” and new search 
plans were built on the ranges determined. 

Blockading A Whole Ocean 

But all the Navy’s work was not defensive 
— two daring concepts on the offensive.helped 
finish off the U-boat’s last chance. One was 
the use of aircraft carriers as offensive 
weapons and the other was a blockade of an 
entire ocean. Both worked. 

For the first genuine courage was re- 
quired. During the early years of the war 
carriers had taken a terrific beating. Used for 
convoy escort, they had been regarded as an 
emergency necessity, but all on board slept in 
life jackets. Now it was proposed to send 
them out to look for submarines, not to avoid 
them. 

Carriers Begin to Hunt 

Whatever the risk, the gamble looked good 
to Tenth Fleet. Driven from the East Coast, 
the subs had formed into huge packs in mid- 
Atlantic, decimating convoys out of the range 
of land-based aircraft. So, straight into the 
wolf-packs, ploughed the jeep carriers — the 
Bogue, the Card, the Santee, the Croatan, 
the Core, and later the Block Island, Wake 
Island and Guadalcanal. The result was spec- 
tacular victory for the CVE’s and for air 
power, for while the Block Island was 
eventually lost, more than 30 submarines fell 
to CVE task groups, and there was no “safe” 
area left in the Atlantic for a German U- 
boat. 

The second undertaking offered less risk, 
but seemed almost fantastic — it proposed to 
blockade the South Atlantic by flying bar- 



79 

rier patrols from South America to Africa. 
Two things made it possible — a base on 
Ascension Island and the finest long range 
bomber squadron in the world, the Navy’s 
VB-107. 

Weaned on PBY’s, and flying the longest 
patrols ever flown in these venerable Navy 
standbys, the squadron had graduated to 
B-24’s (PB4Y’s to the Navy) and was ready 
for its supreme test. 

In the coming months it met and passed 
that test. CVE’s could go out and get sub- 
marines — the Ascension-based squadron had 
to wait for the subs to come to them. Never- 
theless, they matched the record of the finest 
CVE squadron, and wiped out an entire 
flotilla of German blockade runners in the 
bargain. No small part of their success lay 
in the courage of the pilots, men like Squad- 
ron Commander Prueher, who gave his life 
in an attack on three enemy submarines 
some 1500 miles from his base. 

So it was, in 1944, that the Navy seemed 
to have doomed the submarine to oblivion. 
Then, from sources still unrevealed, began 
to come rumors of the first true submarine 
in history — a ship able to remain submerged 
indefinitely, as fast submerged as an older 
submarine on the surface, capable of ex- 
treme ranges. V-E day caught the Germans 
with that submarine still not operational. 
But it’s the U-boat of tomorrow’s war, and 
let’s not forget that as late as May 6, 1945, 
a ship was sunk just off Block Island by a 
German submarine! 

True, that submarine paid for the attack 
with its life, but it was a prepared Navy 
that got the last Navy kill of the war, and in 
194? — what nation would not, if necessary, 
sacrifice 50 submarines for 50 atomic bombs 
on American industrial centers? 

Not one of us wants World War III — but 
if it comes, let’s not lose it. Let’s not sell 
anti-submarine warfare short. 




NEXT ISSUE’S FEATURED NOVEL 



LORD OF THE STORM 

By KEITH HAMMOND 




DUEAM'S END 

By HENRY KBTTSER 



Risking his own life force to cure a patient's psychosis. Dr. 
Robert Bruno learns of the true individualism of human minds! 



T he sanitarium was never quiet. Even 
when night brought comparative still- 
ness, there was an anticipatory ten- 
sion in the air — for cyclic mental disorders 
are as inevitable, though not as regular, as 
the swing of a merry-go-round. 

Earlier that evening Gregson, in Ward 13, 
had moved into the downswing of his manic- 



depressive curve, and there had been trouble. 
Before the orderlies could buckle him into a 
restraining jacket, he had managed to break 
the arm of a “frozen” catatonic patient, who 
had made no sound even as the bone 
snapped. 

Under apomorphine, Gregson subsided. 
After a few days he would be at the bottom 



81 



DREAM’S END 



of his psychic curve, dumb, motionless, and 
disinterested. Nothing would be able to rouse 
him then, for a while. 

Dr. Robert Bruno, Chief of Staff, waited 
till the nurse had gone out with the no longer 
sterile hypodermic. Then he nodded at the 
orderly. 

“AU right. Prepare the patient. I want 
him in Surgery Three in half an hour.” 

He went out into the corridor, a tall, quiet 
man with cool blue eyes and firm lips. Dr. 
Kenneth Morrissey was waiting for him. The 
younger man looked troubled. 

“Surgery, Doctor?” 

“Come on,” Bruno said. “We’ve got to get 
ready. How’s Wheeler?” 

“Simple fracture of the radius, I think. 
I’m having plates made.” 

“Turn him over to one of the other doc- 
tors,” Bruno suggested. “I need your help.” 
He used his key on the locked door. “Greg- 
son’s in good shape for the experiment.” 
Morrissey didn’t answer. Bruno laughed a 
little. 

“What’s bothering you, Ken?” 

“It’s the word experiment,” Morrissey said. 
“Pentothal narcosynthesis was an experi- 
ment when they first tried it. So is this — 
empathy surrogate. If there’s a risk. I’ll be 
taking it, not Gregson.” 

“You can’t be sure.” 

They stepped into the elevator. 

“I am sure,” Bruno said, with odd em- 
phasis. “That’s been my rule all my life. I 
make sure. I’ve got to be sure before I un- 
dertake anything new. This experiment can’t 
possibly fail. I don’t run risks with patients.” 
“Well—” 

“Come in here.” Bruno led the way from 
the elevator to an examination room. “I 
want a final check-up. Try my blood-pres- 
sure.” He stripped off his white coat and 
deftly wound the pneumatic rubber around 
his arm. 

“I’ve explained the whole situation to 
Gregson’s wife.” Bruno went on as Morris- 
sey squeezed the bulb. “She’s signed the au- 
thorization papers. She knows it’s the only 
chance to cure Gregson. After all, Ken, the 
man’s been insane for seven years. Cerebral 
deterioration’s beginning to set in.” 

“Cellular, you mean? Um-m. I’m not wor- 
ried about that. Blood-pressure okay. 
Heart—” 

Morrissey picked up a stethoscope. After a 
while he nodded. 

“A physician hasn’t any right to be afraid 



of the dark,” Bruno said. 

“A physician isn’t charting unmapped ter- 
ritory,” Morrissey said abruptly. “You can 
dissect a cadaver, but you can’t do that to 
the psyche. As a psychiatrist you should be 
the first to admit that we don’t know all 
there is to know about the mind. Would you 
take a ti'ansfusion from a meningitis pa- 
tient?” 

Bruno chuckled. “Witchcraft, Ken — pure 
witchcraft! The germ theory of psychosis! 
Afraid I’ll catch Gregson’s insanity? I hate 
to disillusion you, but episodic disorders 
aren’t contagious.” 

“Just because you can’t see a bug doesn’t 
mean it isn’t there,” Morrissey growled, 
“What about a filterable virus? A few years 
ago nobody could conceive of liquid life.” 

“Next you’ll be going back to Elizabethan 
times and talking about spleen and humors.” 
Bruno resumed his shirt and coat. He sober- 
ed. “In a way, though, this is a transfusion. 
The only type of transfusion possible. I’ll 
admit no one knows all there is to know 
about psychoses. Nobody knows what makes 
a man think, either. But that’s where physics 
is beginning to meet medicine. Witchcraft 
and medicine isolated digitalin when they 
met. And scientists are beginning to know 
the nature of thought — an electronic pattern 
of energy.” 

“Empirical!” 

“Compare not the brain, but the mind it- 
self, to a uranium pile,” Bruno said. “The 
potentialities for atomic explosion are in the 
mind because you can’t make a high-spe- 
cialized colloid for thinking without ap- 
proaching the danger level. It’s the price 
humans pay for being homo sapiens. In a 
uranium pile you’ve got boron-steel bars as 
dampers, to absorb the neutrons before they 
can get out of control. In the mind, those 
dampers are purely psychic, naturally — but 
they’re what keep a man sane.” 

“You can prove anything by symbolism,” 
Morrissey said sourly. “And you can’t stick 
bars of boron-steel in Gregson’s skull.” 

“Yes, I can,” Bruno said. “In effect.” 

“But those dampers are — ideas! Thoughts! 
You can’t — ” 

“What is a thought?” Bruno asked. 

Morrissey grimaced and followed the Chief 
of Staff out. 

“You can chart a thought on the en- 
cephalograph — ” he said stubbornly. 

“Because it’s a radiation. What causes 
that radiation? Energy emitted by certain 
electronic patterns. What causes electronic 



82 STARTLING STORIES 



patterns? The basic physical structure of 
matter. What causes uranium to throw off 
neutrons under special conditions? Same 
answer. If an uranium pile starts to get out 
of control, you can damp it, if you move fast, 
with boron or cadmium.” 

“If you move fast. Why use Gregson? He’s 
been insane for years.” 

“If he’d been insane for only a week, we 
couldn’t prove it was the empathy surrogate 
that cured him. You’re just arguing to dodge 
the responsibility. If you don’t want to help 
me, I’ll get somebody else.” 

“It would take weeks to train another 
man,” Morrissey said. “No, I’ll operate. Only 
— have you thought of the possible effect on 
your own mind?” 

“Certainly,” Bruno said. “Why the devil 
do you suppose I’ve been running exhaustive 
psychological tests on myself? I’m completely 
oriented. I’m so normal that my mind must 
be full of boron dampers.” He paused at the 
door of his office. “Barbara’s here. I’ll meet 
you in Surgery.” 

Morrissey’s shoulders slumped. Bruno 
smiled slightly and opened the door. His 
wife was sitting on a leather couch, idly 
turning the pages of a psychiatric review. 

“Studying?” Bruno said. “Want a job as a 
nurse?” 

“Hello, darling,” she said, tossing the 
magazine aside. 

She came toward him quickly. She was 
small and dark and, Bruno thought academi- 
cally, extremely pretty. Then his thoughts 
stopped being academic as he kissed her. 

“V/hat’s up?” 

“You’re doing that operation tonight, 
aren’t you? I wanted to wish you luck.” 

“How’d you know?” 

“Bob,” she said, “we’ve been married long 
enough so I can read your mind a little. I 
don’t know what the operation is, but I know 
it’s important. So — for luck!” 

She kissed him again. Then, with a smile 
and a nod, she slipped out and was gone. Dr. 
Robert Bruno sighed, not unhappily, and 
sat behind his desk. He used the annunciator 
to check the sanitarium’s routine, made 
certain everything was running smoothly, 
and clicked his tongue with satisfaction. 

Now — the experiment. . . . 

URGERY THREE had some new equip- 
ment for the experiment. Bruno’s col- 
laborator, Andrew Parsons, the atomic 
physicist, was there, small and untidy, with 



a scowling, wrinkled face that looked incon- 
gruous under the surgeon’s cap. There was 
to be no real surgery; trepanning wasn’t nec- 
essary, but aseptic precautions were taken 
as a matter of course. 

The anesthetist and two other nurses stood 
ready, and Morrissey, in his white gown, 
seemed to have forgotten his worry and had 
settled down to his usual quiet competence. 
Gregson was on one of the tables, already 
prepped and unconscious. Intravenous an- 
esthesia would presently supplement the 
apomorphine in his system, as it would also 
be administered to Bruno himself. 

Ferguson and Dale, two other doctors, were 
present. At worst quick cerebral surgery 
might be necessary, if anything went badly 
amiss. But nothing could, Bruno thought. 
Nothing could. 

He glanced at the sleek, shining machines, 
with their attachments and registering dials. 
Not medical equipment, of course. They were 
in Parsons’ line ; he had planned and built 
them. But the idea bad been Bruno’s to begin 
with, and Bruno’s psychiatric knowledge had 
complemented Parsons’ technology. Two 
branches of science had met, and the result 
would be — a specific for insanity. 

Two spots on Bruno’s head had been 
shaved clean. Parsons carefully affixed elec- 
trodes, which were already in place on Greg- 
son’s skull. 

“Remember,” Parsons said, “you should be* 
as relaxed as possible.” 

“You took no sedative. Doctor,” Morrissey 
said. 

“I don’t need one. The anesthetic will be 
enough.” 

The nurses moved with silent competence 
about the table. The emergency oxygen ap- 
paratus was tested. The adrenalin was 
checked; the sterilizer steamed on its table. 
Bruno emptied his mind and relaxed as a 
nurse swabbed his arm with alcohol. 

Superimposure of the electronic mental 
matrix of sanity . . . psychic rapport . . . the 
pattern of his sanity-dampers would be fixed 
unalterably in the twisted, warped mind of 
the manic-depressive. 

He felt the sting of the needle. Automat- 
ically he began counting. One. Two. 
Three. . . . 

He opened his eyes. The face of Morrissey, 
intent and abstracted, hung over him. Be- 
yond Morrissey was the bright ceiling 
fluorescent, glaring down with a brilliance 
that made Bruno blink. His arm stung shghtly 



DREAM’S END 83 



but otherwise there were no after effects. 

"Can you hear me, Doctor?” Morrissey 
said. 

Bruno nodded. “Yes. I’m awake now.” 
His tongue was a little thick. That was nat- 
ural. "Gregson?” 

But Morrissey’s face was growing smaller. 
No. it was receding. The ceiling light shrank. 
He was falling — 

He shot down with blinding rapidity. White 
walls rushed up past him. Morrissey’s face 
receded to a shining dot far above. It grew 
darker as he fell. Winds screamed, and there 
was a slow, gradually increasing thundei-ing 
like an echo resounding from the floor of this 
monstrous abyss. 

Down and down,, faster and faster, with 
the white walls fading to gray and to black, 
till he was blind, till he was deafened with 
that roaring echo. 

Visibility returned. Evei'ything was out of 
focus. He blinked, swallowed, and made out 
the rectangular shape of a bedside screen. 
There was something else, white and irregu- 
lar. 

“Are you awake. Doctor?” 

“Hello, Harwood,” Bruno said to the nurse. 
“How long have I been out?” 

“About two hours. I’ll call Dr. Morrissey.” 

She stepped out of the room. Bruno flexed 
his muscles experimentally. He felt all right. 
Not even a headache. His vision was normal 
now. He instinctively reached for his wrist 
and began counting the pulse. Through the 
window he could see the slow motion of a 
branch, the leaves fluttering in a gentle wind. 
Footsteps sounded. 

“Congratulations,” Morrissey said, coming 
to the bed. “Gregson’s in shock, but he’s 
already beginning to come out of it. No 
prognosis yet, but I’ll bet a cookie you’ve 
done it.” 

Bruno let out his breath in a long sigh. 
“You think so?” 

Morrissey laughed. “Don’t tell me you 
weren’t sure!” 

“I’m always sure,” Bruno said. “Just the 
same, confirmation’s always pleasant. I’m 
thirsty as the devil. Get me some ice, Ken, 
will you?” 

“All right.” Morrissey leaned out of the 
door and called the nurse. Then he came 
back and lowered the Venetian blind. “Sun 
in your eyes. Tnat better? How do you feel, 
or need I ask?" 

“Quite normal. No ill effects at all. Say, 
you’d better notifj- Barbara I’m alive.” 



“I already have. She’s coming over. Mean- 
while, Parsons is outside. Want to see him?” 
“Sure.” 

T he physicist must have heen near the 
door, for he appeared almost instantly. 
“I’ll have to depend on you now,” he said. 
“Psychiatric examinations are out of my line, 
but Dr. Morrissey tells me we’ve apparently 
succeeded.” 

“We can’t be sure yet,” Bruno said cau- 
tiously, reaching for cracked ice. “I’m keep- 
ing my fingers crossed.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“If there’s a healthier specimen in this hos- 
pital than Dr. Bruno,” Morrissey said, “I’ve 
yet to hear of it. I’ll be back. I’ve got to 
check a patient.” He went out. 

Bruno lay back on his pillow. 

“I’ll be up and around tomorrow,” he said, 
“and I’ll want to make some tests on Gregson 
then. Meanwhile, I’ll relax — for a change. 
One good thing about this place; the routine’s 
so perfect that you can unhitch yourself com- 
pletely and let yourself rest, if you want to. 
A dependable staff.” 

The Venetian blind clattered in the wind. 
Parsons grunted and went toward it, taking 
hold of the cord. 

He raised the blind and stood there, his 
back to Bruno. But it was dark outside the 
window. 

“The sun was in my eyes,” Bruno said. 
“Wait a minute! That was only a little while 
ago. Parsons, something’s wrong!” 

“What?” Parsons asked, without turning. 
“Morrissey said I was unconscious for only 
two hours. And I took anesthesia at half- 
past nine. At night! But the sun was shining 
in that window when I woke up, a few min- 
utes ago!” 

“It’s night now,” Parsons said. 

“It can’t be. Get Morrissey. I want to — ” 
But Parsons suddenly leaned forward and 
opened the window. Then he jumped out and 
vanished. 

“Morrissey]” Bruno shouted. 

Morrissey came in. He didn’t look at Bruno. 
He walked quickly across the room and 
jumped out of the window into the darkness. 

Ferguson and Dale entered, still in their 
operating gowns. They followed Morrissey 
through the window. 

Bruno hoisted himself up. Three nurses 
came through the door. An intern and an 
orderly followed. Then others. 

In nightmare procession the staff filed into 



84 STARTLING STORIES 



Bruno’s room. In deadly silence they walked 
to the window and jumped out 

The blankets slipped down from Bruno’s 
body. He saw them sail slowly toward the 
window — 

The bed was tilting! No — the room itself 
was turning, revolving, till Bruno clung fran- 
tically to the head-board while gravity 
dragged him inexorably toward a window 
that now gaped directly below him. 

The bed fell. It spilled Bruno out. He saw 
the oblong of the window opening like a 
mouth to swallow him. He plunged through 
into utter blackness, into an echoing, roaring 
hell of night and thunder. . . . 

“Oh, good heavens!” Bruno moaned. 
“What a dream! Morrissey, get me a seda- 
tive!” 

The psychiatrist laughed. “You’ve had a 
dream-within-a-dream before, haven’t you. 
Doctor? It sounds unnerving, but now you’ve 
told me all about it. The catharsis is better 
than a barbiturate.” 

“I suppose so.” Bruno lay back in the bed. 

This wasn’t the room he had dreamed 
about. It was much larger, and outside the 
windows was normal darkness. Morrissey 
had said that the anesthetic had lasted for 
several hours. 

“Anyway, I’m jittery,” Bruno said. 

“I didn’t know you had any nerves. . . . 
Here, Harwood.” Morrissey turned to the 
nurse and scribbled down a few symbols on 
a pad. “There. We’ll get your sedative. Don’t 
you want to know about Gregson?” 

“I’d forgotten about him completely,” 
Bruno acknowledged. “Can you tell any- 
thing definite yet?” 

“We caught him on the downcurve of the 
depressive cycle, remember? Well, he isn’t 
talking yet, but there’s a touch of euphoria. 
The elation will wear off. One thing, you’ve 
broken the cycle. His mind isn’t adjusted yet 
to those — damper bars you put in ’em, but 
off-hand, I’d say it looks pretty good.” 

“What does Parsons think?” 

“He’s immersed in calculations. Said he’d 
be around to see you as soon as you woke up. 
Here’s that sedative.” 

Bruno accepted the capsules from the 
nurse and washed them down with water. 

“Thanks. I’d rather rest a bit. I must have 
unconsciously piled up quite a lot of ten- 
sion.” 

“So I gather,” Morrissey said drily. “Well, 
here’s the bell-cord. Anything else?” 

“Just rest.” Bruno hesitated. “Oh — one 



thing.” He extended his arm. “Pinch it.” 

ORRISSEY stared and chuckled. 
“Still not sure you’re awake? I 
can assure you you are. Doctor. I’m not 
going to jump out of the window. And it’s 
still night, you’ll notice.” 

When Bruno didn’t move, Morrissey pinch- 
ed up a fold of the other’s forearm between 
thumb and finger. 

“Ouch!” Bruno said. “Thanks.” 

“Any time,” Morrissey said cheerfully. 
“Get some rest now. I’ll be back.” 

He went out with the nurse. Bruno blew 
out his breath and let his gaze wander 
around the room. Everything looked perfect- 
ly solid and normal. No black, thundering 
abyss lurked under the floor. An unpleasant 
dream! 

He reached for pad and pencil and made 
careful notes on the curious double -delusion 
before he let himself relax. Then he felt the 
sedative creeping slowly along his nerves, a 
warm, pleasant sensation that he was glad 
to encourage. He didn’t want to think. Later 
would be time enough. The empathy sur- 
rogate experiment, Gregson, the physicist 
Parsons, Barbara — later! 

He drowsed. It seemed only a moment be- 
fore he opened his eyes to see sunlight be- 
yond the window. Brief panic touched him, 
then he looked at his wrist-watch and was 
reassured to see that it said eleven o’clock. 
He could hear the muffled sounds of the ordi- 
nary hospital routine going on outside door 
and window. Presently, feeling refreshed, he 
got up and dressed. 

In Nurse Harwood’s office he telephoned 
Morrissey, exchanged brief greetings, and 
then went to his own office to shower and 
shave. 

He telephoned Barbara. 

“Hello, there,” she said. “Morrissey noti- 
fied me you were doing all right. So I 
thought I’d wait till you woke up.” 

“I’m awake now. Suppose I come over to 
the house for lunch?” 

“Swell. I’ll be waiting.” 

“Half an hour, then?” 

“Half an hour. I’m glad you called, Bob. 
I was worried.” 

“You needn’t have been.” 

“Was your experiment a success?” 

“Can’t tell yet. Keep your fingers crossed.” 
Ten minute later Bruno’s fingers were still 
crossed as he examined Gregson. Parsons 
and Morrissey were present. The physicist 




DREAM’S END 85 



kept making notes, but Morrissey stood silent 
and watchful. 

There was very little to be seen as yet. 
Gregson lay in his bed, the shaved spots on 
his head white against the dark hair, his fea- 
tures relaxed and peaceful. The typical anx- 
iety expression was gone. Bruno opened the 
man’s eyes and flashed his light into them. 
Contraction of the pupils seemed normal. 

“Can you hear me, Gregson?” 

Gregson’s lips moved. But he said nothing. 

“It’s all right. You’re feeling fine, aren’t 
you? You’re not worried about anything, 

o 

are you: 

“Headache,” Gregson said. “Bad head- 
ache.” 

“We’ll give you something for that. Now 
try to sleep.” 

Outside, in the corridor, Bruno tried hard 
to repress his exultation. Parsons blinked at 
him, scowling. 

“Can you tell anything yet?” 

Bruno checked himself. “No. It’s too soon. 
But—” 

“The manic-depressive phase is passed,” 
Morrissey put in. “He seems rational. And 
he hasn’t been for three years.” 

“Those damper bars — ” Bruno smiled. 
“Well, we’ll have to wait and see. We can’t 
write up a report yet. He’s certainly ori- 
ented. We’ll give him a chance to rest. More 
tests later. I don’t want to jump the gun.” 

But with Barbara he let himself be more 
enthusiastic. 

“We’ve done it, Barbara! Found a specific 
for insanity.” 

She leaned across the table to pour coffee. 

“I thought there were so many types of 
psychosis that the treatment varied con- 
siderably.” 

“Well, that’s true, but we’ve never got to 
the real basis of the trouble before. You can 
cure a cold by rest therapy, force fluids and 
aspirin, but cold vaccine gets directly to the 
root of the trouble. Some types of insanity 
have been thought incurable, but tetanus was 
incurable till we got a vaccine for it. The 
empathy surrogate therapy is the lowest 
common denominator. It works on the elec- 
tronic structure of the mind, and unless 
there’s physical deterioration, as in advanced 
paresis, our treatment should work beauti- 
fully.” 

“So that’s what you were working on,” 
Barbara said. “Bob, you don’t know how 
glad I am that it’s successful.” 

“Well — we hope. We’re almost sure. But — ” 



“You can take a vacation now? You’ve 
been working so hard!” 

“A few more weeks, and I’ll be ready. I’ve 
got to collate my notes. I can’t run out on 
Parsons at this stage. But very soon, I 
promise.” 

I WE LOOKED up to see her smile. Sud- 
S denly he stiffened. Her smile was 
broadening, stretching, the lower lip drop- 
ping till all her teeth showed. The lower 
lids of her eyes hung . . . stretched. . . . 

Her nose lengthened. 

Her eyes slowly crawled out of their 
sockets and lengthened on dreadful stalks 
down her cheeks. 

She melted down and out of sight beneath 
the table. 

The table began to sink. 

And now everything around him was melt- 
ing. Under him the chair became plastic and 
then fluid. The floor was a bowl, and the 
walls were dripping down into it, into a shin- 
ing whirlpool at the center. 

He slipped helplessly along that slope till 
the pool engulfed him, in a chaos of thunder 
and confusion and sickening horror. 

The winds bellowed. . . . The empty drop 
closed around him. . . . He fell in dark- 
ness. . . . 

This time, when he woke, he wasn’t sure. 
The panic had not left him. He learned, later, 
that he had been semi-delirious for eight 
days, and only Morrissey’s unceasing atten- 
tion had kept him reasonably quiet. Then 
there were weeks of convalescence, and a 
vacation, and it seemed a long time before 
he came back from Florida, tanned and 
healthy, to resume his duties. 

Even then, though, there was the fear. 
When he drove toward the blocky build- 
ings of the sanitarium he felt a touch of it 
brush him. He reached for Barbara’s hand, 
and felt some comfort in the assurance of 
her nearness. She had been helpful, too, 
though she had not understood. 

Every day after that, when he left her, 
there was a fleeting apprehension lest he 
never see her again. To forget the uncer- 
tainty of his footing, the ground that was no 
longer absolutely solid, he plunged into the 
hospital’s routine. And gradually, after more 
weeks, the terror began to leave him. 

Gregson had been cured. He was still 
under precautionary observation, but all 
traces of his psychosis seemed to have van- 
ished. There were still minor neuroses, the 



86 STARTLING STORIES 



natural result of the past six years of abnor- 
mal restraint, but they were disappearing 
under proper therapy. The empathy sur- 
rogate treatment was successful. Yet, for a 
while, Bruno refused to attempt more experi- 
ments. 

Parsons was displeased. He was anxious 
to chart a graph on the process, and one trial 
did not provide enough evidence. Bruno kept 
putting the physicist off with promises. It 
eventually ended in a minor spat which Mor- 
rissey halted by pointing out that Dr Robert 
Bruno was, technically, his own patient, and 
was not yet ready for further research on 
the dangerous subject. 

Parsons, furious, went off. Bruno followed 
Morrissey into the latter’s office and sat down 
in one of the more comfortable chairs. It 
was mid-afternoon, and beyond the windows 
the drowsy hum of summer made a peaceful 
counterpoint to the conversation. 

“Cigarette, Ken?” 

“Thanks. . . . Look, Bob.” The two men 
had drawn closer together in the last weeks. 
Morrissey no longer addressed his Chief of 
Staff with the former “Doctor.” “I’ve been 
collating the facts of your case, and I think 
I’ve got at the root of the trouble. Do you 
want to hear my diagnosis?” 

“Candidly, I don’t,” Bruno said, closing 
his eyes and inhaling smoke. “I’d prefer to 
forget it. But I know I can’t. That would be 
psychically ruinous.” 

“You had a cyclic self-containing dream — 
I suppose you could call it that. You dreamed 
you were dreaming you were dreaming. You 
know what your trouble is?” 

“Well?” 

“You’re not sure you’re awake now.” 

“Oh, I’m sure enough,” Bruno said. “Most 
of the time.” 

“You’ve got to be sure all the time. Or 
else make yourself believe that it doesn’t 
matter whether you’re dreaming or waking.” 

“Doesn’t matter! Ken! To know that 
everything may melt away under my feet at 
any time, and to think that doesn’t matter! 
That’s impossible!” 

“Then you’ve got to be sure you’re awake. 
Those hallucinations you had are over. 
Weeks have passed.” 

“Hallucinatory time is elastic and sub- 
jective.” 

“It’s a defense mechanism— you know that, 
I suppose?” 

“Defense against what?” 

Morrissey moistened his lips. “Remember, 



I’m the psychiatrist and you’re the patient. 
You were psychoanalyzed when you studied 
psychiatry, but you didn’t get all the devils 
out of your subconscious. Hang it, Bob, you 
know very well that most psychiatrists take 
up the work because they’re attracted to it 
for pathological reasons — ^neuroses of their 
own. Why did you always insist that you 
were so utterly sure of everything?” 

“I always made sure.” 

“Compensation. To allow for a basic un- 
sureness and insecurity in your own make- 
up. Consciously you were sure the empathy 
surrogate treatment would work, but your 
unconscious mind wasn’t so certain. You 
never let yourself know that, though. But it 
came out under stress — the therapy itself.” 
“Go on,” Bruno said slowly. 

M orrissey tapped the papers on his 
desk. 

“I know my diagnosis is pretty accurate, 
but you can decide that for yourself. You 
can tell, perhaps, better than I can. The 
frontiers of the mind are terra incognita. 
Your simile of a uranium pile was better 
than you’d realized. When critical mass is 
approached, there’s danger. And the damper 
bars in your own mind — ^what did Parsons’ 
machine do to them?” 

“I am quite sane,” Bruno said. “I think.” 
“Sure you are, now. You’re getting over 
that explosion. You’d been building up an 
anxiety neurosis, and the therapy made it 
blow off. Just how, I don’t understand. The 
electronic patterns of the mind aren’t in my 
field. All I know is that the experiment with 
Gregson removed the safety blocks from your 
mind, and you lost control for a while. Thus 
the hallucinations, which simply followed the 
path of least resistance. Point One; You’re 
afraid of insecurity and unsureness, and you 
always have been. Thus your dream follows 
a familiarly symbolic pattern. At any time 
the sureness of waking may vanish. Point 
Two: As long as you think you’re dreaming, 
you’re dodging responsibility!” 

“Good Lord, Ken!” Bruno said. “I just 
want to be sure I’m awake!” 

“And there’s absolutely no way you can 
be sure of that,” Morrissey said. “The con- 
viction must come from your own mind and 
be subjective. No objective proof is possible. 
Otherwise, if you fail to convince yourself, 
the anxiety neurosis will grow back into a 
psychosis, and — ” He shrugged. 

“It sounds logical,” Bruno said. “I’m be- 



DREAM’S END 87 



ginning to see it pretty clearly. I think, per- 
haps, this clarification is what I needed.” 
“Do you think you’re dreaming now?” 
“Not at the moment — certainly.” 

“Swell,” Morrissey said. “Because the 
conglobulation of the psych between the for- 
ever and upstriding kaleeno bystixing forin- 
der saan — ” 

Bruno jumped up. “Ken!” he said, dry- 
throated. “Stop it!” 

“Fylixar catween baleeza — ” 

“Stop it!” 

“BYZINDERKONA REPSTILLING AND 
ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS NEVER 
KNOWING NEVER KNOWING NEVER 
KNOWING—” 

The words came out in great whirling 
shining globes. They raced past Bruno’s 
head with a screaming hiss. They bombarded 
him. They carried him back into a thunder- 
ing, windy abyss of blackness and terror. 



M orrissey stepped back from the bed 

and asked; 

Dr. Robert Bruno managed to nod. 
“Good,” Morrissey said. “You were out 
for about three hours. But everything’s go- 
ing nicely. You’ll be up and around pretty 
soon. There’s plenty to be done. Barbara 
wants to see you — and Parsons.” 

“Ken,” Bruno said, “wait a minute. Am I 
awake now? I mean, really awake?” 
Morrissey stared and grinned. 

“Sure,” he said. “I can guarantee that.” 
But Bruno did not answer. His gaze moved 
to the windows, to the solidity of the walls 
and ceiling, to the reality of his own hands 
and arms. 

Never knowing? 

He looked at Morrissey, waiting for Mor- 
rissey to vanish, and the black pit to open 
again beneath him. 




Old Professor de Meant probes into the bottomless well of infinity- 
in a powerful, fascinating story of the Law of Chance 
which has been hailed as one of the greatest 
scientifiction classics of all time ! 

THE CIRCLE OF ZERO 

By 

STANLEY G. WEINBAUM 

Our Next Issue's Hall of Fame Selection! 




Before Petersen could reach the alarm button, the blackjack hit him 



PROXY PLANETEERS 



By EDMOND HAMILTON 



When robots go hunting tor uranium on Mercury, a pair ot 
scientists tall under a radio-active spell of hypnotism! 



"jy^OUG NORRIS hesitated for an in- 
H » stant. He knew that another move- 
ment might well mean disaster. 

Here deep in the cavernous interior of air- 
less Mercury, catastrophe could strike sud- 
denly. The rocks of the fissure he was 
following had a temperature of hundreds of 
degrees. And he could heard the deep rum- 
ble of shifting rock, close by. 



But it was not these dangers of the infernal 
underworld that made him hesitate. It was 
that sixth sense of imminent peril that he 
had felt twice before while exploring the 
Mercurian depths. Each time, it had ended 
disastrously. 

“Just nerves,” Norris muttered to himself. 
“The uranium vein is clearly indicated. I’ve 
got to follow it.” 

88 



PROXY PLANETEERS 89 



As he again moved forward and followed 
that ^in, black stratum in the fissure wall, 
his eyes constantly searched ahead. 

Then a half-dozen little clouds of glowing 
gas flowed toward him from a branching fis- 
sure. Each was several feet in diameter, a 
faint-glowing mass of vapor with a brighter 
core. 

Norris moved hastily to avoid them. But 
there was a sudden flash of light. Then 
everything went black before his eyes. 

“It’s happened to me again!” Doug Norris 
thought in sharp dismay. 

Frantically he jiggled his controls, cut in 
emergency power switches, overloaded his 
tight control beam to the limit. It was no 
use. He still could not see or hear anything 
whatever. 

Norris defeatedly took the heavy television 
helmet with its bulging eyepieces off his 
head. He stared at the control-board, then 
looked blankly out the window at the dis- 
tant, sunlit stacks of New York Power Sta- 
tion. 

“Another Proxy gone! Seven of them 
wrecked in the last two weeks!” 

It hadn’t just happened, of course. It had 
happened eight minutes ago. It took that 
long for the television beam from the Proxy 
to shuttle from Mercury to this control-sta- 
tion outside New York. And it took as long 
again for the Proxy control-beam to get 
back to it on Mercury. 

Sometimes, a time-lag that long could get 
a Proxy into trouble before its operator on 
Earth was aware of it But usually that was 
not a big factor of danger on a lifeless world 
like Mercury. The Proxies, built of the 
toughest refractory metals, could stand near- 
ly anything but an earthquake, and keep on 
functioning. 

“Each time, there’s been no sign of falling 
rocks or anything like that,” Norris told him- 
self, mystified. “Each time, the Proxy has 
just blacked out with all its controls shot.” 

PBj'^HEN, as his mind searched for some 
factor common to all the disasters, a 
startled look came over Doug Norris’ lean, 
earnest face. 

“There were always some of those clouds 
of radon or whatever they are around, each 
time!” he thought. “I wonder if—” A red- 
hot thought brought him to his feet. “Holy 
cats! Maybe I’ve got the answer!” 

He jumped away from the Proxy-board 
without a further glance at that bank of in- 



tricate controls, and numed down a corridor. 

Through the glass doors he passed, Norris 
could see the other operators at work. Each 
sat in front of his control-board, wearing his 
television helmet, flipping the switches with 
expert precision. Each was operating a me- 
chanical Proxy somewhere on Mercury. 

Norris and all these other operators had 
been trained together when Kincaid started 
the Proxy Project. They had been proud of 
their positions, until recently. It was a vitally 
important job, searching out the uranium so 
sorely needed for Earth’s atomic power sup- 
ply- 

The uranium and allied metals of Ekirth 
had years ago been ransacked and used up. 
There was little on Venus or Mars. Mer- 
cury had much of the precious metal in its 
cavernous interior. But no man, no matter 
how ingenious his protection, could live long 
enough on the terrible, semi-molten Hot Side 
of Mercury to conduct mining operations. 

That was why Kincaid had invented the 
Proxies. They were machines that could 
mine uranium where men couldn’t go. Crew- 
less ships guided by radar took the Proxies 
to the Base on Mercmy’s sunward side. 
From Base, each Proxy was guided by an 
Earth operator down into the hot fissures to 
find and mine the vital radioactive element. 
The scheme had worked well, until— 

“Until we got into those deeper fissures 
with the Proxies,” Doug Norris thought. 
“Seven wrecked since then! This must be 
the answer!” 

Martin Kincaid looked up sharply as Nor- 
ris entered his office. A look of faint dismay 
came on Kincaid’s square, patient face. He 
knew that a Proxy operator wouldn’t leave 
his board in the middle of a shift, unless 
there was trouble. 

“Go ahead and give me the bad news, 
Doug,” he said wearily. 

“Proxy M-Fifty just blacked out on me, 
down in Fissure Four,” Norris admitted. 
“Just like the others. But I think I know 
why, now!” He continued excitedly; “Mart, 
seven Proxies blacking out in two weeks 
wasn’t just accident. It was done delib- 
erately!” 

Kincaid stared. “You mean that Hurri- 
man’s bunch is somehow sabotaging our 
Project?” 

Doug Norris interrupted with a denial. 
“Not that. Hurriman and his fellow politi- 
cians merely want to get their hands on the 
Proxy Project, not to destroy it.” 



90 STARTLING STORIES 



“Then who did wreck our Proxies?” Kin- 
caid demanded. 

Norris answered excitedly. “I believe 
we’ve run into living creatures in those 
depths, and they’re attacking us.” 

Kincaid grunted. “The temperature in 
those fissures is about four hundred degrees 
Centigrade, the same as Mercury’s sunward 
side. Life can’t exist in heat like that. I 
suggest you take a rest.” 

“I know all that,” Norris said impatiently. 
“But suppose we’ve run into a new kind of 
life there — one based on radioactive matter? 
Biologists have speculated on it more than 
once. Theoretically, creatures of radioactive 
matter could exist, drawing their energies 
not from chemical metabolism as we do, but 
from the continuous process of radioactive 
disintegration.” 

“Theoretically, the sky is a big roof with 
holes in it that are stars,” growled Kincaid. 
“It depends on whose theory you believe.” 
“Every time a Proxy has blacked out down 
there, there’s been little clouds of heavy 
radioactive gas near,” argued Doug Norris. 
“Each seems to have a denser core. Suppose 
that core is an unknown radium compoxmd, 
evolved into some kind of neuronic structure 
that is able to receive and remember stimuli? 
A sort of queer, radioactive brain? 

“If that’s so, and biologists have said it’s 
possible, the body of the creature consists of 
radon gas emanated from the radium core. 
You remember the half-life of radon exactly 
equals the rate of its emission from radium, 
so there’d be a constant equilibrium of the 
thing’s gaseous body, analogous to our blood 
circulation. Given Mercury’s conditions, it’s 
no more impossible than a jellyfish or a man 
here on Earth!” 

INCAID looked skeptical. 

“And you think these hypothetical 
living Raddies of yours are attacking our 
Proxies? Why .would they?” 

“If they have cognition and correlation 
faculties they might be irritated by the tube 
emanations from the control-boxes of our 
Proxies,” Norris suggested. “They get into 
those control-boxes and wreck the tube cir- 
cuits by overloading the electron flow with_ 
their own Beta radiation!” 

“It’s all pretty far-fetched,” muttered his 
superior. “Radioactive life! But all those 
Proxies blowing can’t be just chance.” He 
paused, then added gloomily, “But I can just 
see myself telling a World Council commit- 



tee that your hypothetical living Raddies are 
what keep us from delivering uranium! Hur- 
riman would like that. It would convince the 
Council that I’m as incompetent as he 
claims.” 

“He’ll convince the Council of that any- 
way unless we deliver uranium from Mer- 
cury quickly,” retorted Norris. “And we’ll 
never do it till we get these Raddies licked. 
They’re basically just complex clouds of 
radioactive gas. A Proxy armed with a high- 
pressure gas hose should be able to blow 
them to rags. Can’t we try it. Mart?” 

Kincaid sighed, and stood up. 

“I was a practical man once,” he said 
wearily, “and would have booted you out of 
here if you’d suggested such stuff. But I’m 
a drowning man right now, so I’ll buy your 
straw. We’ll send down a couple of Proxies 
armed with gas hoses and see how they make 
out.” 

Doug Norris eagerly went with his supe- 
rior into the adjoining room where the op- 
erators of the Base Proxies were on duty. 

“Norris and I will take over two Proxies 
at base,” Kincaid told the sub-chief there. 

Two operators took off their helmets and 
got out of their chairs. Norris took the place 
of one, donning the television helmet. 

The control and television beams were on. 
The compact kinescope tubes in his helmet 
gave him a clear vision of the Base on Mer- 
cury, as seen through his Proxy’s iconoscope 
“eyes”. 

There were no buildings, for Proxies didn’t 
need shelter. The seared black rocks 
stretched under a brazen sky, beneath a 
stupendous Sun whose blaze even the icono- 
scope filters couldn’t cut down much. The 
Base was just a flat area here beside the low 
rock hills. A crewless ship lay to one side, 
its hatches open. Near it were the supply- 
dumps of Proxy parts, the repair shops, the 
power plant. 

“We’ll get a couple of oxygen tanks from 
the supply dump and use them for your gas 
hose weapons,” Kincaid was saying. 

The Proxies they were guiding did not 
look like men. They looked like what they 
were — machines devised for special purposes. 
They were like baby tanks, mounted on cat- 
erpillar drives, each with two big jointed 
arms ending in claws, and a control-box with 
iconoscope eyes. They clamped on the high- 
pressure oxygen tanks, clutched the nozzles 
of the attached hoses, and rolled out of Base 
across the seared plain toward the black rock 




PROXY PLANETEERS 91 



hills. In a few minutes, they entered the 
narrow cleft of Fissure Four. 

Norris knew the way down here. He led, 
switching on his searchlight even though he 
didn’t really need it. The Proxy’s iconoscope 
eyes could see by the infra-red radiation 
from the superheated rock walls. 

They finally reached the spot deep down 
in the fissure where his disabled former 
Proxy still stood. Doug Norris reached his 
jointed arms and quickly undamped the 
shield of its control-box. 

‘‘Look there, Mart! The whole controls 
shot! They do it by overloading the tubes 
with their own Beta emanations, all right.” 
Kincaid’s Proxy had elbowed close, its big 
iconoscope eyes peering closely. Here in the 
office, Kincaid uttered a grunt. 

“That still doesn’t prove the gas that did it 
was living. Instead of your hypothetical 
Raddies, it could be — ” 

“Look there!” yelled Doug Norris sudden- 
ly. “There they come again!” 

Three of the glowing gaseous things were 
flowing toward them along the fissure. They 
poised for a moment in a lifelike way, and 
then swept forward. 

“Your gas hose!” yelled Norris to the man 
beside him. “Don’t let them get near you!” 
The Raddies were advancing in a delib- 
erate way. In spite of the time-lag, Norris 
tried to raise his gas hose and trigger it. 
There wasn’t time. The eight-minute lag 
between his action and the result out there 
on Mercury was fatally long. The glowing 
Raddies were flowing up around the Proxies. 

Doug Norris was momentarily dazzled by 
the brilliance of the Raddy that enveloped 
his Proxy’s control-box. It was like looking 
into a star to look into the glowing, pulsing 
core of the thing. 

His senses reeled queenly as he stared, 
hypnotized by the swirling bright gas and 
the starlike, throbbing core. He sensed dimly 
that that core was a kind of life possible on 
no terrestrial planet, a crystalized gaseous 
neurone structure that used its own radon 
emanations as a body. 

H e felt his senses staggering, darken- 
ing. It was as though he were hypno- 
tized by the brilliance of that pulsing core of 
light, as though it were probing excruciat- 
ingly into his brain. 

Then Doug Norris came out of his queer 
daze to find himself sitting there with his 
helmet dead. He could see nothing. His 



movements of the Proxy controls yielded no 
response. 

“Blacked out, both our Proxies!” Kincaid 
exclaimed, dazedly taking off his own helmet. 
“And we got some kind of kick-back shock.” 
Norris, still badly shaken, nodded un- 
steadily. “There must have been a kick-back 
along the control beam when they blew the 
control-boxes. The circuit breakers may 
have been slow.” He added quickly, “But 
you know now I was right! Those Raddies 
are living things, that instinctively attack 
our Proxies!” 

Kincaid frowned. “It looks like it. But 
no gas hose or any other weapon will work 
against the brutes. The time-lag makes it 
impossible to use weapons. Our only chance 
is to seal and ray-proof the Proxies’ control- 
boxes against them. That’ll take time. But 
it’s our only chance to get uranium out of 
there, and it’s got to be done before Hurri- 
man’s clique gets the Council on our tail. 
I’ll have the boys bring the Proxies all back 
to Base at once.” 

Norris followed his chief back to his office. 
Winters, the office clerk, was waiting there 
for them, and looking anxious. 

“A bulletin just came over the news tape, 
Chief,” he told Kincaid. “Here it is.” 

Mart Kincaid read the tape, and his square 
shoulders seemed to sag a little. He looked 
at them heavily. 

“We won’t need to worry any more about 
your Raddies, Doug. World Council has just 
passed Hurriman’s motion requesting an im- 
mediate investigation of Proxy Project. It 
will begin tomorrow.” He added tonelessly, 
“You know what that means. When they 
find we’ve lost nine valuable Proxies out 
there on Mercury without getting any ura- 
nium at all yet, we’ll be thrown out.” 

“Blast Hurriman!” Doug Norris raged. 
“The Proxy Project has been your work from 
the start! You sweated to develop the things. 
Now because there’s a hitch, a bunch of 
bumbling politicians take it over!” 

“It’s all in a lifetime,” Kincaid shrugged. 
“Winters, you tell the boys. Have them pull 
their Proxies back to Base, and go home.” 
He sat down slowly in his chair then, and 
stared at the wall. “So it’s over. Well, right 
now I’m too tired to care.” 

Norris felt heartsick. “Isn’t there any 
chance of stalling them long enough to try 
our idea of rayproofing the Proxies?” 

“You know there isn’t,” said his superior. 
“It’d take days to do that job. Even if it 



92 STARTLING STORIES 



worked against the Raddies, it’d take weeks 
more to get out uranium. And Hurriman’s 
bunch won’t wait weeks.” 

He looked at the sick face of the younger 
man, then opened a desk drawer and took 
out a bottle of Scotch and glasses. 

“Here, have a drink,” he ordered. “You’re 
a little young yet, and you take these things 
too seriously.” 

Norris unhappily drank the Scotch. But 
his nerves, still shaken by that queer kick- 
back shock from the beam, didn’t relax much. 

“Mart, your calmness isn’t fooling me,” he 
said. “I know how much the Proxies meant 
to you, the dreams you had of operating 
Proxies on every planet man couldn’t visit, 
even on worlds of distant stars.” 

Kincaid shrugged as he poured himself a 
drink. “Sure, I wanted all that. But since 
when have scientists ever been able to buck 
politicians?” 

Darkness pressed the windows as night 
gathered. They sat silently in the darkening 
office drinking the Scotch and looking at the 
tall, lighted stacks of the distant New York 
Power Station. 

Doug Norris found no comfort in the 
liquor’s sting. His sense of injustice deep- 
ened. The Proxies were Kincaid’s, but just 
because he couldn’t produce uranium fast 
enough, they would be taken away from him. 

He said so, bitterly and at length. Kincaid 
only shrugged wearily again. 

“Forget it, Doug. Have another drink.” 

Norris discovered with mild surprise that 
the bottle was empty. 

“We must have spilled some of it,” he said 
a little thickly. 

“There’s another bottle in the drawer,” 
Kincaid grunted. “They were for the Project 
party next week, but that’s all off now.” 

ORRIS opened the other bottle and 
generously refilled their glasses. He 
sat down beside Kincaid, who was looking 
broodingly from the window at the distant 
atomic power plant. Despite the warm phys- 
ical glow he felt, Doug Norris was unhap- 
pier than before. A new, poignant sorrow 
had risen in him. 

“You know. Mart, it isn’t only what Hurri- 
man’s doing to the Project that’s got me 
down,” he said sorrowfully. “It’s what hap- 
pened to old M-Fifty today.” 

“M-Fifty?” Kincaid inquired. “You mean 
that Proxy you lost this afternoon?” 

“Yes, he was my special Proxy for all 



these months,” Doug Norris said. “I got to 
know him. He was always dependable, never 
jumped his control beam, never acted cranky 
in a tight place.” His voice choked a little. 
“I loved that Proxy like a brother. And I 
let him down. I let those Raddies wreck 
him.” 

“They’ll fix him up, Doug,” said Kincaid, 
a rich sympathy in his slightly thickened 
voice. “They’ll make him as good as new 
when they get him back up to Base.” 

“Yes, but what good will that do if I’m 
not here to operate him?” cried Norris. “I 
tell you, that Proxy was sensitive. He knew 
my touch on the controls. That Proxy would 
have died for me.” 

“Sure he would.” Kincaid nodded with 
owlish understanding. “Here, have another 
drink, Doug.” 

“I’ve had enough,” Norris said gloomily, 
refilling their glasses as he spoke. “But as I 
was saying, that Proxy won’t run for a bunch 
of politicians and their ham-handed opera- 
tors like he ran for me. He’ll know that I’m 
gone, and he won’t be the same. He’ll pine.” 
“That’s the way it goes, Doug,” Kincaid 
said sadly. “You lose your best friend — ^I 
mean, your best Proxy — and I lose my Proj- 
ect, just because we can’t furnish enough 
uranium for power over there.” 

He gestured bitterly toward the distant 
stacks of New York Power Station that 
soared like towers of light in the distant 
darkness. 

“You know, I’ve got an idea in my mind 
about that,” Kincaid added slowly, as he 
stared at those towers. 

Doug Norris nodded emphatically. “You’re 
dead right. Mart. You’re absolutely right.” 
“Now wait, you didn’t hear my idea yet,” 
Kincaid protested a little foggily. “It’s this 
— ^we’re losing the Project because we can’t 
furnish enough uranium for power. But sup- 
pose they didn’t need uranium for power any 
longer? Then they’d let us keep the Proxy 
Project!” 

“Exactly what I say!” Norris declared 
firmly. “There’s just one thing for us to do. 
That’s to find a way to produce atomic power 
from some commoner substance than ura- 
nium. That’d solve our whole problem.” 

“I thought I was the one who said that,” 
Kincaid said, puzzled. “But look — what fair- 
ly common metal could be used to replace 
uranium in the atomic piles?” 

“Bismuth, of course,” Norris replied 
promptly. “Its atomic number is closest to 




PROXY PLANETEERS 93 



the radioactive series of elements.” 

“You took the words right out of my 
mouth!” Kincaid declared. “Bismuth it is. 
All we have to do is to make bismuth work 
in an atomic pile, then we can run the Proxy 
Project without this everlasting nagging 
about supplying uranium.” 

Doug Norris felt a warm, happy relief. 
“Why, it’s simple! We should have thought 
of it before! Let’s get some bismuth out of 
the supply room and go over to the Power 
Station right now!” He leaped to his feet, 
eagerly, if a trifle unsteadily. “No time to 
waste, if the Council committee’s to be on 
our necks tomorrow!” 

Doug Norris felt like singing in his won- 
derful relief, as he and Kincaid went down 
through the now deserted Project building 
to the supply room. In fact, he started to 
raise his voice in a ribald ballad about a 
Proxy’s adventure with a lady automaton. 

“You mus’ have had a trifle too much 
Scotch, Doug,” Kincaid reproved him, with 
owlish dignity. “Such levity isn’t becoming 
to two scientists about to make the mos’ won- 
derful invention of the century.” 

They got one of the heavy leaden cylinders 
used for transport of uranium and filled it 
carefully with powdered bismuth. Then, in 
Kincaid’s car, they drove happily toward 
the big Power Station. 

The guards at the barrier gate knew them 
both, for it was nothing new for Proxy 
Project men to bring uranium over to the 
Station. They let them through, and the car 
eased along the straight cement road. 

The huge, windowless buildings that 
housed the massive uranium piles were a 
mile beyond. But no one went near those 
tremendous atomic piles. Everything in them 
had to be handled by remote control by the 
few technicians in Headquarters Building 
who kept them operating. 

“Mart, isn’t it queer nobody ever thought 
of usin’ bismuth instead of uranium, before 
now?” Norris asked, out of his roseate glow. 

“Scientists too c’nservative, that’s the 
trouble,” Kincaid answered wisely. His voice 
soared. “We’re about to launch a new epoch! 
No more uranium shortage to worry ’bout! 
No more politicians botherin’ the Project!” 
“And I’ll be able to fix up old M-Fifty and 
run him myself again,” added Doug Norris. 
He choked up once more. “When I think of 
tiiat Proxy that was like a brother to me, 
lyin’ down in that lonely fissure with the 
laddies gloatin’ over him — ’* 



“Don’t think about it, Doug,” begged Kin- 
caid, with tender sympathy. “Soon’s we get 
these atomic piles changed around, we’ll go 
back and get good old M-Fifty up again and 
fix him good as new.” 

T hat promise cheered Norris’ grieving 
mind. He got out and helped Kincaid 
carry the heavy lead cylinder into Headquar- 
ters Building. 

The technicians they passed in the lower 
rooms saw nothing surprising in the two 
Project men staggering along under the 
weight of the cylinder. Nor did Petersen and 
Thorpe, at first. 

Petersen and Thorpe were the two techni- 
cians on duty in the big, sacred inmost cham- 
ber of controls. Visors here gave view of 
every part of the distant, mighty atomic 
piles — the massive lead towers that enclosed 
the graphite and uranium lattices, the gas 
penstocks that led to giant heat turbines, the 
gauges and meters. And the banks of heavy 
levers here could switch those lattices, make 
any desired change in the piles, without the 
necessity of a man entering the zone of dan- 
gerous radiation. 

Petersen had surprise on his spectacled, 
scholarly face as he greeted the two scien- 
tists. 

“I didn’t know you had another uranium 
consignment for us,” he said. 

Kincaid helped Norris place the lead cylin- 
der in the breech of the tube that would car- 
ry it mechanically to the distant pile. 

“This isn’t uranium — it’s better than urani- 
um,” Kincaid announced impressively. 

“What do you mean, better than urani- 
um?” Petersen asked in a puzzled tone. He 
opened the end of the lead cylinder. “Why, 
this stuff is bismuth! What is this, a crazy 
joke?” 

Young Thorpe had been staring closely at 
Kincaid and Norris. 

“They’re both plastered!” he burst out. 
Kincaid drew himself up in an unsteady 
attitude of outraged dignity. 

“Tha’s what thanks we get,” he accused 
thickly. “We come here to make a won’erful 
improvement in your blasted old atomic piles, 
and we get insulted.” 

“Thorpe,” Petersen said disgustedly, “get 
them out of here, and . . . Look out!" 

Doug Norris had casually taken the heavy 
metal handle off one of the big levers. He 
tapped Thorpe on the head with it just as 
Petersen uttered his warning cry. The young 



94 STARTLING STORIES 



technician slumped. 

Petersen, suddenly pale, darted toward 
an alarm button on his desk. But before he 
reached it, Norris’ improvised blackjack 
tapped his skull. And Petersen also sagged 
to the floor. 

Norris looked triumphantly at Kincaid, 
with a warm feeling of righteous virtue. 

“They won’t bother us now. Mart. I just 
put them out for a little while without hurt- 
ing ’em.” 

“Quick thinking, Doug!” Kincaid approved 
warmly. “Can’t let reactionaries obstruc’ 
course of scientific progress. We’d better tie 
’em up in case they come around too soon,” 

Norris helped tie the two unconscious men 
with lengths of spare cable. Then he and 
Kincaid stood swaying a little as they owl- 
ishly inspected the controls of the mighty 
atomic piles. 

Norris knew a good bit about those con- 
trols. He had been here many times, and 
Petersen and the other technicians had liked 
to talk. The trouble was, that right now his 
thoughts all seemed a little foggy. 

“What we got to do,” Kincaid said pon- 
derously, “is change ’round the atomic pile 
setup so it’ll handle bismuth instead of ura- 
nium. Right?” 

“Right!” Norris approved enthusiastically. 
“That’s going right to the heart of the prob- 
lem, old pal!” 

Kincaid seemed to blush in deprecation. 
“Oh, I jus’ got an orderly mind. First thing 
now, is to shift the uranium lattices out of 
the piles.” 

He laid his hands on several of the levers, 
one after another. There was a low humming 
of machinery somewhere. 

In the distant, towering structure, lattices 
loaded with uranium were being mechani- 
cally withdrawn to the pits beneath. But 
there was nothing happening here except on 
the panel of indicators. 

Petersen came back to consciousness at 
that moment. Tied to a wall stanchion, he 
stiffened and his eyes bugged at them. 

“What are you two doing?” he cried. 
“You’re cutting off the power by pulling out 
tiiose lattices!” 

“Only temp’rarily,” Norris assured him. 
“We’U shift empty lattices back in, and then 
load the bismuth into them.” 

Petersen uttered a howl of agony. “You 
maniacs will wreck the whole pile if you try 
a stunt like that! For heaven’s sake, sober 
up and think what you’re doing!” 



“We’re tryin’ to think,” Kincaid said stern- 
ly. “But how can we co’centrate, with you 
yelling at us?” 

Petersen went from raging orders to ago- 
nized pleadings to tearful entreaty. The two 
ignored him completely. 

“Le’s see, now,” Kincaid said, blinking. 
“We’ll leave in the Number One uranium 
lattice after all. We’ll need its neutrons to 
trigger the expanding series of graphite and 
bismuth lattices.” 

“We’ll need two uranium lattices,” Doug 
Norris corrected thickly. “One to trigger the 
first action, the other to pr’vide neutrons for 
the continuous shuttle that’ll run the bis- 
muth’s atomic number up from eighty-three 
to ninety-four, right up through neptunium 
to plutonium.” 

“You’re right,” Kincaid agreed, hiccuping 
slightly. “I forgot ’bout that second lattice 
for a minute. Mus’ be because of all the noise 
in here.” 

P ETERSEN was still producing that noise, 
indeed. He had become louder and more 
frantic as he saw them shifting out the urani- 
um lattices and replacing them clumsily with 
empty lattice-frames. 

“Ten thousand scientists have been work- 
ing ever since Nineteen-forty-five to find a 
way to use common elements instead of 
uranium in a pile!” he choked. “They can’t 
do it. But two drunken Proxy men are going 
to try it!” 

Norris hardly heard that stream of ago- 
nized accusation and entreaty, as he helped 
Kincaid shift in the empty lattices. He was 
mildly sorry that Petersen felt so disturbed. 
'There was no reason for it. He and Kincaid 
knew just what they were doing. 

Or did they? For a moment, a dim doubt 
crossed Norris’ foggy mind. After all, he and 
Kincaid weren’t physicists. Then he dis- 
missed that doubt. He was sure of what they 
were doing, wasn’t he? 

Kincaid sat down unsteadily when they 
had the lattices changed. 

“I feel a lil shaky. ’S emotional reaction 
from great scientific achievement.” 

“Emotional reaction nothing — you’re so 
plastered you’re nearly out!” raged Petersen. 

Kincaid dignifiedly ignored that. “Switch 
on the loader and shoot the oT bismuth in 
there, Doug.” 

“Norris, don’t do it!” begged Petersen 
hoarsely. “It means wrecking the pile, and 
maybe blowing up the whole Station!” 



PROXY PLANETEERS 95 



Again, Doug Norris’ dim. doubt bothered 
him. But then again he dismissed it. Every- 
thing was so beautifully clear in his mind. 
It had to work. 

He switched on the loader. The lead cyl- 
inder of bismuth slid away into the tube that 
would carry it to the pile, where it would be 
automatically loaded into the new empty lat- 
tices. 

“You fools!” choked Petersen. “I hope 
they hang you both for this! When that pile 
starts up, and blows — ” 

The operation of the great atomic pile was 
automatic from this point on. Minutes later, 
a bell rang and indicators clicked on. 

“First uranium lattice has triggered off,” 
said Kincaid, and nodded, pleased. “Now 
well get power — lotsa power.” 

“Youll get nothing but maybe an atomic 
explosion, in ten seconds!” cried Petersen, 
his face deathly white. 

Doug Norris suddenly felt his doubt rise 
again and this time it overwhelmed him! 
All his former foggy confidence seemed to 



Petersen was untied, he grabbed Kincaid 
fiercely. 

“How did you do it?” he cried. “Just what 
did you do to the pile?” 

Kincaid stared at him blankly. “I don’t 
know, now.” 

“You don’t know?” Petersen almost 
screeched. “Man. you’ve stumbled on what 
the scientists have been hunting all these 
years — the hookup to use common elements 
in an atomic pile! You must have had some- 
thing figured out beforehand!” 

“We didn’t!” Norris denied weakly. “We 
got a little plastered, and got this idea. We 
didn’t know what we were doing.” 

Suddenly, Doug Norris stiffened. Remem- 
brance that brought him jumping unsteadily 
to his feet had come to him. 

“You couldn’t have done a thing like this 
by sheer crazy accident!” Petersen was in- 
sisting. “You must have known how!” 

“By heaven, I believe now that we did 
know what we were doing, in a queer sort 
of way!” Norris exclaimed shakily. He 



Read Our Companion Magazine 

THRILLING WONDER STORIES 

NOW ON SALE— 15« AT ALL STANDS! 



have left him as they completed their opera- 
tions. 

He was suddenly aware of the mad and 
ghastly thing that he and Kincaid had done. 
Why in heaven’s name had they done it? 
What crazy quirk in their minds had made 
them do it? 

Kincaid too was suddenly looking pale and 
queer. 

“Doug, maybe we shouldn’t have tried it.” 

“Look at those meters!” yelled Petersen, in 
a wild voice. 

The technician’s eyes were protruding as 
he stared at the big bank of ammeters that 
registered the output of the great turbines. 
The needles were jumping across the dials 
with swiftly increasing amperage. 

“The pile is working!" yelled Petersen 
hoarsely. “That bismuth is actually produc- 
ing atomic power!” 

Doug Norris suddenly felt cold sober, and 
a little sick. He sat down shakily, and put 
his head in his hands. 

Kincaid was staring blankly at the am- 
meters, while Petersen and Thorpe seemed 
to have gone" crazy with excitement. When 



grabbed Kincaid’s arm. “Mart, come with 
me! We’re going back over to the Project!” 
Petersen’s dazed amazement was changing 
to exultation. 

“Whatever you did, it’s still working and 
looks like it’ll work indefinitely! And we can 
study the hookup and learn how to duplicate 
it, even if we never completely understand it. 
You two maniacs are going to be famous!” 
But Norris had already led the stupefied 
Kincaid out of the room. 

A ll the way back to the Proxy Project, 
Kincaid kept dazedly repeating the 
same thing over and over. 

“We must have been clear out of our heads 
to do a thing like that! But how is it that we 
were able to do it right?" 

“Haven’t you suspected the answer to that 
yet?” cried Doug Norris. “Don’t you see 
why, as soon as our conscious minds were 
relaxed by a few drinks, we automatically 
went and performed an operation totally be- 
yond present-day nuclear science? What 
happened to us just before we had those 
drinks? What happened when our Proxies 



9@ STARTLING STORIES 



met those Raddies down in the fissure?” 

“The Raddies?” Kincaid repeated stupidly. 
“What could those brutes have to do with 
this?” 

“We thought they were only brutes, a low 
form of queer radio-active life,” Norris said. 
“But what if their weird minds are intelli- 
gent, supremely intelligent? An intelligence 
that doesn’t operate for purposes or in ways 
like ours, but that’s as high or higher than 
ours?” 

He almost dragged the stunned Kincaid 
into the deserted office, to the control-boards 
of the Proxies at Base. 

“Take over a Proxy and follow me,” Norris 
ordered. “I’ve an idea that if we go down in 
that fissure again, we can prove it.” 

“Prove what?” Kincaid asked, but me- 
chanically obeyed and took over a Proxy 
control. 

Again, Norris and Kincaid guided their 
Proxies out of Base and across the seared 
Mercury plain toward Fissure Four. Norris 
peered down into the fissure as he advanced 
Then as they glimpsed the wrecked Proxies 
they had previously left there, they also 
glimpsed glowing little clouds flowing rapidly 
toward them. 

A Raddy lifted its glowing gaseous body 
to envelop the control-box of Norris’ Proxy. 
Again, as he stared into the thing’s brilliant, 
pulsing core, he felt his senses reel queerly. 
But this time, he knew beyond any doubt 
what it was. 

“Hypnosis!” he yelled to Kincaid. “Hyp- 
nosis operating through our Proxies’ eyes 
right back along the beam to our own eyes 
and brains! I thought so!” His shout died 
away as his brain reeled under the powerful 



hypnotic influence of the Raddy’s pulsing, 
starlike core. 

Hypnosis could operate by vision, everyone 
knew that. Nobody had dreamed of hypnosis 
operating across space by means of a linking 
television beam, but it was happening. For 
Doug Norris, resisting now with new-found 
knowledge, just dimly sensed the powerful 
hypnotic order the Raddy’s pulsing brain was 
hurling into his own mind. 

“You will not send your crude machines 
down here again to disturb our philosophical 
reveries!” the Raddy’s hypnotic thought was 
sternly ordering him. “There is no further 
need. When we read from your minds that 
it was need for uranium for your primitive 
power plants that motivated your intrusions 
here, we gave your brains the post-hypnotic 
knowledge to improve those power plants so 
you would not need to come here again. So 
go, and do not return!” 

Under that powerful hypnotic command, 
both Norris and Kincaid turned their Proxies 
and fled back up the fissure. 

Not until they had reached Base again, not 
imtil they had ripped off the television hel- 
mets, did Doug Norris feel that powerful 
hypnotic command relax. 

“It’s as I suspected!” he cried. “It was the 
Raddies who put that knowledge in our 
minds! Who would know nuclear science 
better than they?” 

Kincaid stared, his jaw dropping. “Then, 
to stop our bothering them, they did that by 
post-hypnotic command working back along 
our own Proxy-beams?” 

“Yes!” cried Doug Norris. “Ironic, isn’t 
it? They worked back along our own beams 
and made Proxies out of us!” 




A wave of rebellion and suicide follows in the wake of the uncovering 
of an old shrine on the Sixth Moon of Jupiter in LODANA, a 
brilliant fantastic story by Carl Jacobi coming in the 
next issue — plus many other stories and features! 




OofTji beg«ii to pot Hii^ h^o bef mixing bowl 



SUPEH WHUST 



Ey MAECAEET ST. CLAIE 

li you ever want a free trip to Mars, all you have to do is 
mix six slices of diced Super Whost with granulated sugar, 
chopped apples, golden syrup and — a large grain of saW 



T HERE’LJj always be an ad~man. 
Oona, scanning the stereo, saw the 
’caster’s handsome profile fade dis- 
creetly into a panoramic view of Marsport 
at night. 

“The city of perfumes.” he said in a 
cadenced tenor. “Ten days of unoblivious 
wonderment in the heart of the luxury capi- 
tal, with side deviations to the polar ice caps, 



the Purple Desert” — the view in the stereo 
shifted appropriately with his words — “and 
the System-famed wine district on the left 
bank of the Grand Canal, for yourself and 
a guest of your choice. That’s the eximious 
first prize in the Super Whost contest. 

“Why not compete? All you have to do is 
to send in an entry of not over two hundred 
words in length, accompanied by the seals 



98 STARTLING STORIES 



from ten family-sized pacs of Super Whost. 
Begin with the words, ‘I prefer Super Whost 
at every repast because . . and then carry 
on with the reasons why you always opt 
Super Whost. 

“Perhaps it’s the high degree of tensile 
crispation, perhaps it’s the sure effect of 
Super Whost on the salivary glands. Aggre- 
gate your reasons, whatever they may be, 
and send them in for the contest! 

“The second prize in the Super Whost 
contest — Super Whost, the chronometrized 
carbohydrate — is a week on Mars, also at 
the Grande Hotel de Bellona, with two days’ 
deviation to the wine district. Third prize 
is the latest edition all-Diesel ’copter put 
out by the Luffa Engine Company, complete 
with . . .’’ 

Oona shut the stereo off. She wasn’t inter- 
ested in any prizes below the first two. A 
trip to Mars! Neither she nor Jick had ever 
been out of the earth’s atmosphere, except 
once when Space Ports Inc., had entertained 
their employees with an all-day fourth-of- 
July picnic on one of the Space Rafts. 

Oona hadn’t really cared for it. They were 
up high enough, to see the curvature of the 
earth, and it had been interesting to look 
down and watch the weather happening 
below, but the raft had been under a dome, 
of course, and something in the set-up had 
made Oona dizzy whenever she thought of 
it. She was sure it wasn’t the same thing, not 
at all the same, as being on another planet. 

She pulled the seals from the ten family- 
sized pacs of Super Whost toward her and 
studied them for inspiration. Why did she 
prefer Super Whost? Well, of course it was 
the most convenient stuff in the world, and 
it had rather a nice taste. 

But the real reason she’d bought the ten 
pacs — there was an awful lot of Whost in 
them for just her and Jick to get through — 
had been to get the seals so she could enter 
the contest. But she could hardly give that 
as a reason. 

After a few moments she drew the mouth- 
piece of the dicta-type toward her and began. 

“I prefer Super Whost at every repast be- 
cause . . .’’ 

It was harder work than Oona had thought 
it would be. Her mind seemed to dry up 
when she tried to think of reasons for opting 
Super Whost. She spoiled five rekkablanks 
before she came out with an entry which 
pleased her. 

It was really pretty good, she thought, 



reading it over. That phrase about “rich 
sapidity” sounded well, and so did that bit 
about the “deep luxurience of Super Whost’s 
high tensile crispation.” 

And she’d finished with a ringing tribute 
to Super Whost’s super-convenience for the 
super-busy modern woman. Darn it, she 
ought to get the second prize at least. 

She stuck the ten seals in the envelope 
with her entry, ran it through the postage 
meter and slipped it into the teleport. There! 
Her entry was in the contest. 

Jick would be home in a little while. It 
was time to think about supper. Before she 
got the bollo tongue out of the deep freeze 
and popped it into the tenderizer (they’d 
have taro roots with it, and some of those 
little mange-toute peas, and of course 
Whost), she opened the storage cabinets 
and looked at the Super Whost again. 

W HAT a lot there was of it! She always 
tended to forget how big the pacs 
were when she wasn’t looking at them. That 
wouldn’t have bothered her at all, because 
Whost was nice to have on hand, but of 
course it was all chronometrized, and that 
meant that if you let the pacs go past the 
date stamped on them the Whost disinte- 
grated. 

Instead of coming out all hot and buttery 
and delicious (well, it did taste pretty good), 
you had nothing but a lot of crumbs, as 
tasteless as sawdust. All that Whost to eat 
up before May Seventeenth! That was a pac 
every four days. 

Jick broke down on the thii’d day. 
“Listen, honey,” he said, “isn’t there any- 
thing in the system to eat besides Whost? 
Seems like we’ve had it at every repast for 
the last week. 

“I know it’s convenient for you and all 
that, but I’m getting so I hate the taste of 
it, and after I eat it I feel as if I’d swallowed 
helium-filled balloons mixed with slivers of 
corundum. How about having some rolls?” 
Oona nodded. She had to admit that Jick 
was right; she’d barely been able to get 
down her own share of the Whost at lunch, 
and she’d given Jick more than herself be- 
cause he was bigger than she. 

It had been too much of a good thing. 
And even eating Whost strenuously the way 
they’d been doing, they had only finished 
two-thirds of the first box. She’d have to 
work out some other method of dealing with 
it. 



SUPER WHOST 99 



At the meeting of her maroola club next 
afternoon, Oona was silent and distraught. 
She couldn’t get her mind on the game. 
While the other girls drew loos, doubled and 
built their citadels, Oona looked blankly at 
her hand, seeing, instead of the brightly- 
colored hexagons, nine and one-third family- 
sized pacs of Super Whost. 

She couldn’t just put them in the garbage 
reducer. Whost, no matter what the makers 
said, was in the luxury price-group. It 
had cost too much to throw away. She 
could cut it up in little pieces and use it 
for stuffing lamb shoulder, she guessed, or — 
“Double loot” Neta Dubonet cried ex- 
citedly. “And whidget. That puts me out. 
My goodness, Oona, what’s the matter with 
you? You’re playing like you’re asleep.” 
“I’m sorry,” Oona replied with an effort. 
“I know I’m not playing very well.” 

“I should say not. Maybe you’ll feel better 
after the refreshments — Jobella said she was 
trying a new recipe on us today.” 

“Um-hum,” Oona answered vaguely. 
“Um-hum. Yes.” 

The refreshments, when they came, looked 
quite good. A mold of calavo, geela nut 
and fraisette, steaming hot theo, and — what 
was that? Oona poked cautiously with her 
fork at the pale-blue surface. That was 
spilal paste on top, but underneath — she 
might have known it — was Whost. 

It almost took her appetite. She got down 
a few mouthfuls of the geela mold and drank 
her theo, but Jobella commented with some 
acerbity on how the new recipe hadn’t made 
a hit with everyone, and Oona had to explain 
that she was slimming for her frontless 
swimming suit. 

After the repast they played some more 
maroola, and then Jobella awarded the 
prizes. 

“Neta has high score,” she said, handing 
a little box to her (Oona thought it looked 
like a somni-spray case) “and poor Oona 
gets the consolation prize. Just a second.” 
Jobella went out of the room for a minute 
and returned lugging a huge box. With a 
sinking heart, Oona began to untie the big 
silver bow and strip off the iridescent nylo- 
wrap. It was, as she had feared, ten family- 
sized pacs of Super Whost. 

I T WAS plain enough what had happened, 
Oona thought as she caught the air-bus. 
Jobella had entered the Whost contest (the 
seals were all gone from the pacs), and she’d 



decided that consolation prize for the ma- 
roola club was a good way of getting rid of 
all that Whost. It was expensive enough to 
make a good present, but gosh. Gosh! 

Oona stored the new installment of Whost 
under the dishwashing unit and began to get 
supper. Once in awhile she looked toward 
the garbage reducer with a _ speculative 
eye. All she had to do was to pick up a 
pac of Whost and . . . 

Jick chimed at the front door and Oona 
ran to let him in. “ ’Lo, honey,” she said, 
embracing him warmly. “Have a good day?” 

Jick looked at her. His usually good- 
tempered face seemed harassed. 

“Not exactly,” he replied. “You know that 
check pool we have on Fridays?” 

“Um-hum.” 

“Well, I got a prize. First time in solar 
history I’ve won anything. You know what 
it was?” 

“What?" Oona cried, facing him. For some 
reason, her heart had begun to pound. 

“Ten of those beblasted pacs of Whost! 
That stuff! Ten — pacs — of — Whost! I brought 
it home, Oona, but if you want to put it in 
the garbage reducer, it’s all right with me. I 
don’t think I ever want any of it to eat.” 
He shoved the box toward her and went into 
the shower room to depilate his face. 

Oona now had twenty-nine and one-third 
family-sized pacs of Super Whost. May 
twenty-eighth was the latest date any of 
them was chronometrized for. Why not just 
put them in the reducer? They hadn’t cost 
her anything. 

Oona wavered. Then her jaw set. No, by 
golly, she wasn’t going to throw them away. 
Jick’s union was negotiating for a wage in- 
crease, but even if it went through those 
boxes of Super Whost represented darn near 
a week’s wages. 

She drew the seatette out of the wall in 
the kitchen and began to think. Crumbs for 
sauteing? Whost in chunks with gelatine? 
With geela and almond flavor, baked as a 
sort of imitation macaroon? 

Next morning, as soon as she was through 
with breakfast, Oona set to work. She got 
out spices, sugars, eight or ten bottles of 
flavoring, an assortment of fresh and proc- 
essed fruit, four kinds of flour and one of 
the pacs of Whost. 

By late afternoon, she had used it in 
thirteen or fourteen things. Most of them 
had been messes, one or two had . been 
reasonably zestful. She had discovered that 



100 STARTLING STORIES 



Whost went badly with meats or cheese and 
excellently with apples. On the basis of 
these facts, what procedure suggested it- 
self? 

Oona glanced at the dial — an hour and 
ten minutes until Jick would be home. She 
began to dump things into her largest mix- 
ing bowl, the one that had been through the 
dishwasher four times already that day, with 
nervous speed. In less than half an hour a 
wonderful aroma, rich, deep, and insinuating, 
had begun to diffuse itself through the 
house. 

“Sump’n smells good,” Jick said after he 
had kissed her. His arm still around her 
waist, he inhaled deeply. “Apple pie, hunh? 
Or maybe Deep Dish Golden Tart. Smells 
mighty zestful, whatever it is.” 

“It’s just a little recipe I made up,” Oona 
answered him. “I had some stuff I wanted 
to use. Gee, Jick, I hope it appeals.” 

It did. 

“Is this all there is of it?” Jick demanded 
indignantly, after three helpings of Oona’s 
concoction. He was picking up crumbs from 
his plate with the tines of his fork. “Make 
it again tomorrow night; make twice as 
much. I could eat it every night for a month. 
What’s it got in it, honey? It’s the best 
desert you ever made.” 

“Oh, apples and things. Lots of things.” 

Jick looked at her, frowning a little. After 
a moment he got up and brought the dicta- 
type over to the table. 

“Put it on a rekkablank right away, sugar,” 
he advised. “ ’Member that Frozen Delight 
you made, and then you forgot what went 
in it? Wouldn’t want that to happen with 
this.” 

BEDIENTLY, Oona began to talk into 
the machine. “Three cups of chopped 
apples, three-quarters cup of Demerara 
sugar, six slices diced Super Whost” — she 
saw Jick, on the other side of the table, 
raise his eyebrows slightly — “one quarter 
cup of golden syrup, one quarter teaspoon 
of salt. . . .” 

“There are a lot of things in it,” Jick said 
when she had finished. “I suppose the rum 
gives it that velvety taste. Or maybe it’s 
the toasted almonds and the geela nuts. Any- 
how . . . listen, baby, whyn’t you send it in 
to BETTER REPASTS? Honest, it’s a world- 
beater.” 

Oona -wriggled a little. Jick was so preju- 
diced in her favor that he thought every- 



thing she did was wonderful. The recip4 
really wasn’t extraordinary. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. 

“You sure ought to send it in. It might 
win a prize or something. What’s the name 
of it?” 

“Unh— Apple Whee.” 

“Good name.” Jick scrawled “Apple Whee” 
at the top of the rekkablank and laid it on 
the table. “And have it again tomorrow 
night, will you, kid? Have it lots of nights.” 

Now that Oona had the Super Whost off 
her mind, she began to enjoy planning the 
Martian trip. The first prize included a com- 
plete traveUng-trousseau for the winner, and 
even the second prize offered a complete 
sports outfit and one for evening too. 

But what about Jick? She’d be darned if 
she was going to go prancing up to the 
Grande Hotel de Bellona dressed like a 
stereo star and have him looking like a poor 
relation. Jick was not only the sweetest man 
in the solar system, he was darned good- 
looking with that deep chest and dark hair 
and everything. If he had some new clothes 
he’d look like a billion dollars. 

She got out the savings-book and studied 
it. Dam. She saved hard on everything but 
somehow. . . . 

Finally she video’d Berstein, her old boss, 
and within five minutes had agreed to work 
part-time for him, four days a week, from 
ten until three. Berstein had almost cried 
when she got married. The chronnox in the 
kitchen was a wedding gift from him and his 
wife. 

Oona rang off with his loud, thankful hal- 
lelujas echoing in her ears. Ten to three 
wouldn’t be bad — it would give her plenty of 
time to get home and make Apple Wbee 
for Jick. 

The days went by. They had Apple Whee 
at least three evenings a week and the 
savings-account began to fatten up. Oona 
took to spending her noon hour looking in 
the windows of the smarter men’s shops. 

According to MALE, VIRILE, and PRO 
HOMINE, very dark crimson evening clothes 
were coming into vogue this year and that 
color would be simply zestful on Jick. The 
pants baggy over the knees, she thought, 
tapering do-wn into a deep, tight cuff with no 
lapels on the jacket*.' * 

Naturally, Jick would have to make the 
final decision himself. There was something 
too horrid about the sort of woman who 
picked out a man’s clothes. 




SUPER WHOST 101 



One thing she was sure of, Jick was going 
to get evening things. She bet with herself 
that every man in Marsport dressed for 
dinner without even thinking about it. Jick 
was as good as any of them — Darling Jick! 
They were going to have a fine time. 

Some nights, of course, she found herself 
wishing he’d get tired of Apple Whee. Good- 
ness knows, she was getting tired of making 
it. But she had used up thirteen of the 
family-sized pacs of Super Whost, and if 
Jick could stand it, so could she. 

Maybe, after a while, they’d be able to eat 
Whost out of the pac again. The idea seemed 
a good deal less unpleasant than it had. And 
there was still a lot of Whost left. 

It was on Friday, a little more than three 
weeks after Oona had gone back to work for 
Berstein, that Jick chimed so vigorously at 
the door Oona was afraid he’d break some- 
thing. 

“Golly, Jick,” she said panting — she had 
run to let him in — “why all the speed? Is 
something the matter? Or were you afraid 
I’d eat up all the Apple Whee before you got 
home?” 

“Apple Whee! Ha!’’ Jick roared at her. His 
face was flushed. “Is anything the matter! 
Ha! Woman, look at your mail!” He thrust 
an envelope at her. “It just came. Woman, 
look at your mail!” 

Oona accepted it rather gingerly. It was 
a long, thin envelope, and it had obviously 
been ripped open in a hurry by Jick’s fore- 
finger. 

“You opened my letter?” she said. 

“You bet I did! You bet I did! So perish all 
tyrants! Don’t stand there and hold it, 
Oona — look at it!” 

H IS excitement was highly contagious. 

With trembling fingers Oona pulled 
the contents of the envelope out. Two pale 
blue pasteboard oblongs slipped through her 
unsteady hands and fluttered to the floor. 
His face one vast beam, Jick picked them 
up and handed them to her. 

“Look,” he said pointing, “see what it 
says?” 

“S.S. Catena,” Oona read, “First Class 
Passage, Round Trip, Greater New York 
to Marsport” ^ s ■«. 

“See? What did I tell you?” Jick said. 
Oona felt a stab of perplexity. She’d told 
Jick she thought she’d enter the Super Whost 
contest, and he’d said yes, it might be worth 
trying. What did he mean, what did I tell 



you? It had been her idea. 

“Look at the rest of it!” Jick urged. Oona 
pulled out a long, flimsy strip of paper. 
“Marsport Hostel,” she read, “is honored to 
inform you that a suite of rooms has been 
reserved in your name . . .” Marsport Hostel? 
But it had been the Grande Hotel de Bellona, 
hadn’t it? What was all this? 

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you, 
honey?” Jick said. Her confusion seemed 
to delight him enormously. “I knew you’d 
be surprised. 

“I— what?” 

“It’s the Apple Whee,” Jick explained at 
last, smiling vastly. “I sent the recipe into 
BETTER REPASTS, and you won the grand 
prize in the all-terra finals. I told you it was 
a world-beater, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Now will 
you believe me when I tell you you’re a 
good cook?” 

' Oona nodded. She was too full of emotion 
to be able to speak. Grand prize in the 
BETTER REPASTS contest! Why, she hadn’t 
even known they’d been having one. And if 
she had, she wouldn’t have had the nerve to 
enter it. Usually they paid a dollar for 
every recipe they took, and they’d turned 
down the two she sent in last year. 

“Would you like a glass of soma?” Jick 
asked. “Maybe the excitement’s been too 
much for you. You look sort of pale.” 

“No, I’m all right,” Oona replied absently. 
Two trips to Mars — heavens, what was she 
going to do with them? Maybe they could 
take one of them this year and save the other 
until Jick’s next vacation. Or, if they 
wouldn’t let her do that, Neta Dubonet and 
her husband would love to go. 

Oona groped her way along the wall to 
the cushions of the pneumaport and sat down. 
Jick sat down too, put his arm aroimd her 
waist and began talking about all the fun 
they could have on Mars. 

“By the way, Jick,” Oona said when he 
paused for breath, “did I get any other 
mail?” 

“Unh? A post card or something.” He 
fumbled in his pocket and produced a bill 
for the new eutex, a notice from the film 
library that WORLD OF ARLESIA had ar- 
rived and was being held until called for, 
and a letter from the manufacturers of 
Super Whost. 

Oona was almost afraid to open it. In a 
way, it did seem a little improbable that she 
could have won another trip to Mars and 
yet, when she thought how hard she’d 



102 STARTLING STORIES 



worked on her contest entry and how much 
Whost she and Jiek had eaten up, she was 
sure she couldn’t have taken anything less 
than second prize. It had been a darned good 
entry. At last she pulled the ribbon which 
unsealed the envelope and drew the enclo- 
sure out. 

“Dear Contestant,” Oona read, “the manu- 
facturers of Super Whost, the chronome- 
trized carbohydrate, take pleasure in inform- 



ing you that your entry was placed forty- 
fifth in the recent Super Whost contest by 
the judges. 

“Your prize goes forward to you today by 
prepaid air freight. We know that you, as a 
Super Whost enthusiast, will be as delighted 
by the prospect of receiving, free of charge, 
twenty family-sized pacs of delicious, high 
tensile crispation Super Whost as we are by 
sending them to you. . . .” 



THf ETHER VIBRATES 

(Continued jrom page 9) 



printing more letters even if it does mean cutting some 
of the verbage out of ’em. It was nice to see Gwen 
Ctmnlngham back again. I do get a kick out of her 
letters even if I don’t agree with the contents. The 
letters are really improving, thank heavens, and I 
can read them and understand them without needing 
a dictionary of fan-slang, or what have you. 

I see that I missed making some sort of comment 
on the pictures. Bergey’s, yipes! Bergey didn’t do 
the cover! I thought it was much better than his 
usual stuff. Except for the yellowish sky it’s a dam 
good pic. Along with Alvin R. Brown, I too, long 
for a good blue sky. How about it ? — 137 Eads Avenue, 
San Antonio 4, Texas, 

We remain on record as believeng THE 
SOMA RACKS an excellent story. Believe it 
or not, it did have a point to it, as anyone 
who has ever been afflicted with a handyman 
around the house, past, present or future, 
should discover. At any rate we are glad 
you liked Leinster’s fine novel and did not 
agree with Dear Gwen. Nobody likes to be 
called a murderer, even ye ed. 

UNFINISHED SYMPHONY 

by Rosemary 

My Dear Editor: Never, never have I been so very 
upset over a story no less. I was left dangling in 
midair and darn this Murray Leinster anyway! 

The story?? Oh, good, super, solid, swell — but. . . . 
THE LAWS OF CHANCE was not flnidbed. In the 
middle of nowhere he stopped! Why? 

Frinstance — so Frances kissed Steve and they be- 
came man and wife — so what? Where and how did 
Lucky find his girl? Did these survivors build a colony? 
How many captives were bumped off? I could go on 
and on. 

Honestly I’ve worried about the future of these 
people until I can’t take it any more. I’ll probably 
go into a raving dilemma one of these days and my 
husband will have to go on a diet for lack of a cook. 
May I add that, outside of all my ravings, this 
STARTLING book is terrific! — 432 Vz East 8th Street, 
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 

Dear heaven, Rosemary, at least Frances 
and Steve had themselves a preacher mar- 
riage — think of the future social structure if 
they hadn’t! Or why not think about it? 
Lucky’s probe gave indication that the girl 
he was after was among the released 
prisoners in the liberated base. And natural- 
ly the idea was to rebuild the conquered 
territory as rapidly as possible. All of these 



answers are available on the right-hand 
column of page 65, March, 1947, issue. The 
bump-ofl: total has not been released due to 
reasons of military security or something. 

Back to the range, Rosemary. 

VERGER VIBRATES 

by K. Martin Carlson 

Dear Editor: For some time I have been on the 
verge of typing out a letter to Startling Stories, but 
never took the time to do so. 

Now, I’ve finally done the deed. I want to put in 
my 2c worth of praise for "THE HALL OF FAME". 
May it ever burn brightly. Please carry on with the 
old Classics. WHEN PLANETS CLASHED was another 
very good novelet by Wellman. I don’t recall ever 
ha^ng read it before, and I’ve been reading stf since 
1921. Yes, I’ve read STARTLING and many of the 
others ever since the first issue. 

In the arguments about ffie best artists, let me 
recommend Virgil Finlay. Any fan want a folio of bis 
illustrations? Thanks for your kind review of my 
KAY-MAR TRADER. I’m glad you don’t praise overly 
much. Give it right from the shoulder. We fans 
think better of you for it. 

I like to read your comments on each letter. Your 
letter section is half the fun of gethng STARTLING 
and it is the first place I turn to, when I open It 
up . — 1028 3rd Avenue South, Moorhead, Minnesota, 

Thanks. 'We’re glad to learn that at least 
one old timer thinks we are still on the 
radar beam. We like Finlay too — along with 
Stevens. They make a grand pair of artists 
and we wish we could latch onto more of 
their work. However, both are doing plenty 
for SS and TWS nowadays, so their appear- 
ances w'ill come with increasing frequency. 

TIME TO RIPOSTE 

by Norm Storer 

Dear Editor: In spite of the fact that I may be 

verbally dissected after Altering the portals of TEV, 
I shall still write to you. Mainly to compliment you on 
a dum good ish. 

Yeah, that Leinster yarn really hit the ^t. And 
Belarski adds imm^surafcdy to the outside appearance. 
On the whole a vdy cov«*. 

The inside pics, too, are welcomed after all those 
issu^ with just Marchioni for the lead story. And 
who did the pic for “When Planets Clash”? Fair. 
Just one criticism on Finlay .... why the professional 
fencing pose on pageJS? That was certainly no place 
for it. 

Choice of stories in a hurry, so*s I can get on to TEV: 



THE ETHER 

(1) “The Laws of Chance”. (2) “When Planets 
Clashed”. (3) “Hie Soma Racks”. (4) “Stellar Snow- 
ball.” 

That was a ghastly thing you did when you cut 
Chaddo's letter. Why, the very soul of TEV is usually 
contained in his fine missive, and you go and cut it 
out. There wasn’t enuf left for one to barely chuckle. 
Shame, Sargeant, shame! But Berry is left in better 
^ape, and his unique style somewhat makes up for the 
absence of Oliver. Even JoKe is in his usual high-and- 
zany spirits and is left to graze undisturbed o’er the ill- 
fated Fall SS. This must be quite a blow to Chad's 
piide. — 1724 Mississippi Street, Lawrence, Kansas. 

Dissection now under way. The inside 
story on Marchioni is that our art editor 
likes the way he draws zany machinery. At 
that, he does it better than most of the others. 
Hereafter, however, we shall run fencing 
poses only on page 26, which should make 
them twice as good. 

Chad’s letter did take a brutal slicing — 
probably because we ran it first while our 
energies and intentions were still intact. 
But we are still searching (with doughnut 
gun in hand) for the proof or copy reader 
who changed Tungsten from a nobel equine 
to a much lower genus. 

We didn’t do it on purpose, Chad, really 
we didn’t. So come on back to the fold. 

IN A FEW WORDS . . . 

by Michael Wigodsky 

Dear Editor: For the March issue of Startling 

Stories, congratulations. 

THE LAWS OF CHANCE was excellent. 

WHEN PLANETS CLASHED would have been all 
right if it had been a' new story, but since it was a 
so called Classic it didn’t quite make it. Is this the best 
Science Fiction has produced m the past? 

THE SOMA RACKS was wonderful. 

STELLAR SNOWBALL was so-so. 

Iluustrations : 

Cover; Belarski is worse than Bergey. 

13: Wonderful. 

15; 

19; 

65: Terrible. 

70-71: " 

88 : 

Letters; pretty good. Who is Eando Binder? 

All In all, a pretty good issue. Once more, congratu- 
lations. — S06 Evans Avenue, Son Antonio, Texas. 

Thanks for all those congratulations, 
Michael, and especially for liking and under- 
standing THE SOMA RACKS. It seems to 
have puzzled a number of fans — who are not 
apparently accustomed to futureworld do- 
mestic yarns with a dash of humor. Person- 
ally we think they constitute the innovation 
of the year in stf and are glad to report more 
Oona and Jick stojjes on the way. 

We shall forbear from comment on your 
comment anent the illustrations. But as for 
Eando Binder — that is a long story. There 
once were three brothers, it seems, Earl, 
Otto and Jack Binder.<j|5^1;^nd Otto (Eando 
— get it?) collaborated on stories while Jack 
was an artist who did many stf features for 
the old THRILLING WONDER. 

Jack became a comics artist ultimately and 
Earl eventually dropped out of the writing 



VIBRATES 103 

collaboration. Most of the stories that have 
won undying stf fame for Eando were done 
by Otto on his own — although he kept the 
byline as was. For a number of years he has 
been turning out other material than science 
fiction yarns — which was a definite and sorely 
felt loss to the field. Now he’s coming back — 
this time under his own name, Otto Binder. 
Have you read “The Ring Bonanza” on page 
57 of this issue? 

Once more, thanks for the congratulations. 

STRIFE FROM DELLROSE 

by Tells Streiff 

Dear Editor; Why do you persist in ruining your 
otherwise nice magazine by the use of Marchioni's 
pics? The initiation of Finlay’s super pics is an amiable 
move, to be sure, and I hope you keep him coming but 
that other artist ... I can do better than that! 

Now to the March issue; arggg ... no Bergey! 
Belarski . . . the greater of two evils. Give us an nld 
fashioned bem sometime . . . even a LAM or a BTM 
would do. 

THE LAWS OF CHANCE: another Startling hit . . . 
you must be getting better. WHEN PLANETS 
CLASHED: I’m just curious . . . who asked for that to 
be reprinted? it was good . . . even for its age. 

THE SOMA RACKS: coff coff ... I think I’ll send 
you “It happened one night” again ... I see you're 
in the mood for that type. 

STELLAR SNOWBALL: even if it had been good 
I wouldn’t have liked it because of the M. pic. 

Altho I will go along with the killing off of the 
Sarge, why must you kill off TEV too? I would much 
rather see the letters of chad, joe, etc., in toto than my 
own inane burbling in condensed form. 

The real reason I wrote this letter is that we 
Wichita Fans have formed the Wichita Science Fiction 
Society and would like tp invite all Fans around 
Wichita that can come to drop me a line and get 
details. We have about ten active members right 
now and would like to really get things going. — 545 
North Dellrose, Wichita 6, Kansas. 

Re your first paragraph, in the words of 
the immortal Spivy, why don’t you? If TEV 
is dead, how come the increase of letters 
(truly astonishing, running as it does at least 
300% of the average wartime issue)? We like 
to run Chad and JoKe too — when they write, 
despite the shearing on Chad in the March 
issue. 

Good luck to your fansociety. How active 
do your members get? 

NOT IN HASTE BUT— 

by R. R. Anger 

Dear Editor: 

(a) The Laws of Chance was up to Leinster’s best 
standards (I can’t think of higher praise.) 

(b) When Planets Clashed was excellent — deserved 
H of F. 

(c) Stellar Snowball had an interesting theory. 

(d) The Soma Racks has Margaret St. Clair’s 
uniqueness, but I expect better things from her as 
time goes on. 

(e) Belarski is worse than Bergey. 

(f) Who illustrated When Planets Clashed — wonder- 
ful! 

(g) I trust this is concise and dry enough for your 
new letter policy. — 520 Highland Avenue, Ottawa, 
Ontario. 

Re (f) — the artist in question is named 
Napoli, Glad you like his initial effort. More 
coming. Is tlds tersenough? 



STARTLING STORIES 



104 

SKWALK 

by Jim Kennedy 

Dear Editor: Well here I am again for another 

squawk session. And have I got some squawks! 

The first is the cover. At first I thou^t that 
Bergey had finally snapped a coil in that brain of 
his. It was one of his worst creations. Then I dis- 
covered that Bergey wasn’t to be blamed this time. 
So take my apology to him next time you go see him 
at the Restmore Sanitarium. 

Hie stories themselves weren’t too bad as far as 
they went, but that’s the trouble, they didn’t go any- 
place. I can remember the day when there were 
at least a dozen stories per issue. Now you’re dropping 
back into that lull of only four stories per book. 

The best was When Planets Clashed. Personally I 
think the older the story the better it is. For the 
simple reason that about ten years ago people didn’t 
know too much about Science Fiction and the authors 
took time out to explain things and they used down- 
to-earth facts. Today the authors don’t explain some 
of the things. Also they tend to go a little too far 
towards fantasy. 

The Laws of Chance was above average. 

Of the two short stories Stellar Snowball was best 
although I wouldn’t consider it an average story. 

I couldn’t find much sense in the Soma Racks so 
I didn't like it and won’t even bother commenting 
about it. 

The Ether Vibrates was as good as ever. I see that 
Joe Kennedy is back. For a while I was afraid that 
I would have to carry on the fair name of Kennedy 
alone. — 373 Hamilton Street, Redding, Califomm. 

Okay, Jim, my pallid carbon copy friend — 
drop around for some chloral hydrate any 
time the mood is upon you. 

BELL RINGER 

by Rex E. Ward 

Dear Editor: Just a brief flash in the ether to 

compliment you on a great March ’47 issue: 

(1) "The Laws of Chance” by Murray I»einster. In 
his first full-lengther for Startling, Murray rings the 
bell. A fine novel, a little too short. 

(2) “When Planets Clashed” by Manly Wade ^Vell- 
man. Not as good as should be for the Hall Of Fame, 
but good enough to hold my attention throughout. I’ll 
be waiting to read the sequel. 

(3) Tie: “Soma Racks,” and “Stellar Snowball.” 
Both passable. 

The Art, on the whole, was excellent with Finlay, 
of course, copping top honors. Marchioni seem.s to 
be in a rut. T^at girl on page 88 looks exactly like 
Tba:m Marden, of the last issue! And who did the 
illustration for “VTien Planets Clashed” — Orban, 
Morey? I can’t make out the signature In the lower 
right comer, if it is supposed to be one. 

All in all, a fine issue. And by the sound of 
Kuttner’s novel coming up it looks like you may top 
it. I hope sol — El Segundo, California. 

A few more letters like that and this 
column will curl up its toes and die an un- 
natural death. 

AND HERE’S ONE LIKE IT 

by John Suggilt 

Dear Editor: May I offer my most humble thanks 
and in doing so give a pat on the back? For the past 
three years that I have been reading your magazine 
never has there been a novel by a certain Murray 
Leinster; you have printed a few shorts but never a 
novel. I have hoped and wi^ed and even prayed to 
the great Ghu and now at last my prayere have been 
answered. 

“The Laws of Chance” was my answer. Need I say 
more than that Leinster was at his best. He even 
outdid his F'rst Contact”, which in my c^inion was 



a minor classic. Not that a Leinster novel was 
enough — you ev^ had Finlay do the pics. The one 
on page thirteen was superb. Take a bow. My wily 
regret was that the cover by Belarski didn’t do 
the story justice. 

The HofF story “When Planets Clashed” by Wellman 
runs a close second. The reason why it didn’t place 
first was that I’m prejudiced against him. 

"Stellar Snowball” had a twist to it I rather liked. 
Apart from that it was very mediocre. 

As for the "Soma Racks”. It didn’t appeal to me 
in any shape or form. 

On the whole tho, the issue was well above 
average. The departments were good as usual. I 
liked Perry’s letter best because I disagree with him 
on every point. 

Say, what ever became of the other “Joe Ken- 
nedy ?” — 402 Queen Street, Saskatoon, Saskatchetcan. 

Drop us another line, John, and tell us 
why you are prejudiced against Manly Well- 
man. Of all the genial and congenial souls 
we have ever met. . . . 

Whatever became of both Joe Kennedys? 
Somebody let us know. 

Incidentally, we have a beef that rivals the 
trimmed-edge howlers in vehemence. Why 
don’t you missivists put your addresses at 
the bottom of your Irtters instead of at the 
top? It will make life a lot simpler for ye ed. 

OUT OF THE RUT 

by Gerry de la Ree 

Dear Editor: Startling appears to be pulling out of 
its wartime slump. The summer, 1946 and March, 
1947 issues contained two of the better novels you have 
published in recent years. 

Kuttner’s "The Dark World” (Sxnnmer, ’46) was a 
well-written piece in Henry’s new-found Merritt 
style. The story had quite a good plot and, despite 
its briefness, was above average. 

“The Laws of Chance” by Murray Leinster was not 
ttie greatest novel ever to appear in Startling, but it 
was considerably better than many you printed be- 
tween 1941 and 1945. In many respects I found “The 
Laws of Chance” more interesting ^an Leinster’s 
recent book “The Murder of the U.S.A.” (which was 
published under his real name. Will F. Jenkins). 

It is also with a sigh of relief that I note the more 
mature nature of most of the letters published in the 
March, issue. Also the quantity of letters. Your 
fanzine review column and letter section are, at 
present, unrivaled in fandom. 

As to the future I’d like to cast a vote for longer 
novels by such boys as Kuttner, Leinster, Jack 
Williamson and Manly Wellman. In tiie early days of 
Startling, Otto Binder turned out some fine novels. 
If you could get him to write some mote scientifiction, 
I think you would make a lot of friends. As to art 
work, let’s see a lot more of Finlay . — 9 Bogert Place, 
Westwood, New Jersey. 

So you want Wellman, Gerry. Well, so do 
we in spite of the Suggitt antibias. As for the 
letters, how mature can you get anyway? 
We’d like to have Williamson and Binder 
back too. Thanks for a ffice epistle. 

BHU! 

by Leatrice Budoff , , 

’ m'i biv 

Dear Mr. Editor, Sir: Now what did I do? I write 
a perfectly innocent pome extolling (in my queer 
fashion) the virtues of Bergey’s Bems, Babes and 
Bores, and what happens? For the first time in Ghu 
knows how long, there ain’t no Bergey on the March 
cover. I protest! 

Getting down to contents, "The Laws of Chance” was 



105 



THE ETHER VIBRATES 



pretty good, and ditto the HOF piece. But oh — those 
diort stories! Soma racks! Bah! TEV brings up the 
most controversial topic in Science Fiction, and the 
most inspirational — Alien Life. I’ve just one fault 
to find — it was too short. You should develop ttiis 
department. It’s worth it. 

Tell Mr. Talbot that any time he wants to come 
over to my place. I’ll be glad to instruct him in the 
Facts of Fandomania. Has Mr, Perry ever read “The 
Mysterious Island’’? Kennedy, as usual, is swell. 
Congrats on the Squelching of Sigler, Editor. 

Imagine a girl on the cover of SS with clothes on! 
Tch. What is this world coming to? Your poetry, 
Mr. Editor, continues to beat anything the readers 
send in (including my own, I’m forced to admit). 
Also, your pun-gent headings continue to bring joy to 
the ears of this pun-eh drunk gal. I confess, I am an 
incorrigible addict. — 947 Schenectady Avenue, Brooklyn 
3, New York. 

Budoff course you are, Lee. Wish you’d 
put the thing in rhyme to give us a chance 
to throw one back at you. As for alien life, 
your guesses anent same are at least as good 
as ours — and almost certainly as futile. Heck, 
we’ll give you a poem anyway — 

Those Bergey wenches, lithe as eels, 

They certainly do fetch one 

But still we long (are we the heels!) 

To see a B-BEM ketch one! 

Which should take care of that for the time 
being. 

KETCH UP ON YOUR READING, 
DON 

by Don Hutchison 

Dear Editor: What? No Bergey? Tch I Tch! Glad 
Finlay is still around. His illustration on page 13 was 
well done. I haven't finished reading THE LAWS OF 
CHANCE yet, however it seems very good so far. 

WHEN PLANETS CLASHED was OK. It’s a great 
improvement to have tiie HF much longer than 
before. THE SOMA RACKS and STELLAR SNOW- 
BALL were both fair shorts. 'The former was perhaps 
Mijoyed more. Authoress St. Clair has the ability 
to tell a story humorously enough that it seems to 
balance off t^ serious entries. 

The discussicHi on H. G. Wells was interesting. THE 
WAR OF THE WORLDS and THE TIME MACHINE 
were his two best as far as I'm concerned. I would 
like to have heard Ors<m Welles' radio dramatization 
of the former. It must have been very convincing to 
cause the furor that it did. I also liked FOOD OF 
THE GODS and THE ISLAND OF DR. MOREAU. I 
believe DR. MOREAU was once made into a movie 
starring Charles Laughton. 

THE ETHE31 VIBRATES was good. It contained the 
shortest Kennedy and Oliver letters I’ve ever seen. 
Poor Chad’s missive seems to have been chopped to 
pieces. — 7 Tacoma Ave., Toronto 5, Ontario. 

Congratulations on liking the St. Clair 
short. Hooray! And give us a reading time 
on THE LAWS OF CHANCE— if you have 
finished it yet. 

As for the late H. G. Wells, we like all the 
items you mention and did hear the famed 
“Martian” broadcast. The Laughton movie 
was a no-star dreadful. I wonder why so 
few Wells fans seem to have read A WORLD 
SET FREE or THE SLEEPER WAKES. Both 
of them belong way up there. 



BRiEFIE 

by John S. Frassier 

Dear Sir: Your story in the March issue, WHEN 
PLANETS CLASHED, was terrific. I especially liked 
the illustmtion and will look for this artist's work in 
your next issue . — 2249 West FiUTnore, P.O. Box ^2421, 
Phoenix, Arizona. 

His name, as before mentioned, is Napoli. 

BURGESS BURNS 

by Fred Burgess 

Dear Editor: I’m writing this letter on a borrowed 
copy of STARTLING for the simple reason that some- 
body in the distributing office likes to keep the latest 
issue away from Chapel Hill imtil the next issue has 
come out on the stands elsewhere. 

I guess I'll give a short review of this latest isshu. 
The March ish, that is. 

Cover: by Rudplph Belarski. Hmmmm. Maybe 
Bergey wasn’t so bad after all. 



The 


stories rate in this 


order: 




Place : 


Title: 


Author: 


Bate: 


1st 


Laws of Chance 


Murray Leinster 


74% 


2nd 


When Planets 
Clashed 


Manly Wade Wellman 


40% 


3rd 


Stellar Snowball 


John Barrett 


05% 


4th 


The Soma Racks 


Margaret St. Cl 2 iir 


02% 



Rate means the approximate value of the story as 
one of the best you publirii this year. At the end 
of the year I'll be able to look over my ratings and 
there will be the best stories of the year. 

By the way, here’s just a brief comment on “The 
Soma Racks.” I don't think that the Tranquilate 
would have caused Jick (sic!) to forget what had 
happened under the influence of the Vitalizer. 

'TEV: What does 1he B. B. in Norton’s name stand 
for? Best letters were by Burgess and you didn't print 
them. After that. Oliver, Cunningham, Gabriel, Weeks, 
and Beery. Coslet must be out of his head. Who wants 
Schomburg? He drew so many comic book covers 
(thirty thousand at last count) that his style has be- 
come more fixed and out of place than Marchioni’s. 

As usuaL a plea: ALL FEN RESIDING IN NORTH 
CAROLINA, OR WHO HAVE LIVED IN NORTH 
CAROLINA, PLEASE GET IN TOUCH WITH ME AS 
SOON AS POSSIBLE, THE NORCARFAN CLUB IS 
GROWING DAILY. IF YOU WANT TO BECOME A 
MEMBER OF ONE OF THE NEWEST AND BEST FAN 
ORGANIZATIONS TODAY. GET IN TOUCH WITH 
ME OR WITH: 

Andy Lyon 

200 Williamsboro Street 
Oxford, N. C. 

That’s about all. Maybe I could ask for better 
stories. I could even write one for you. I wouldn’t 
want to ruin the mag’s reputation with a good story 
though.— 125 Aycock, Chapel HUl, North Carolina. 

Come on and ruin us, Burgess! Your guess 
on the B.B. in Norton’s name rates with ours. 
Perhaps it is Bridlecar Beluchistani or some- 
thing similar— in which case he is denying 
humanity of something fine. 

WELL, IT’S A KENNEDY ANYWAY 

by Janice Kennedy 

Dear Editor: Mr. Leinster distinctly describes the 
girl's apparel as ‘‘whipcord slacks and a girl’s corduroy 
jacket”. Can you see any girl, especially one who had 
already captured her man thoroughly, running around 
in that tom-up rag? .... Arriving at the vibration 
department that speculation on alien life forms was 
good. Wasn't it Ed Hamilton who wrote a right good 
short story awhile back about life on Mars appearing 
in horrible forms simply because the thought waves 
of sf writers created them that way? (We don’t re- 
member — E<L). Who knows. . . . 

I am among the mourners for the days of Wart-ears 



STARTLING STORIES 



106 

and Xeno, but the letters seem to have improved and 
the Sarge (?) is just as usual, Xeno or no. Need I 
say more? (We bow — Ed.) 

All this writing to get to the stories. . . A vast Im- 
provement over the last few issues I might add — 

1. ) THE LAWS OF CHANCE— Leinster really hit 
with that one. Seems to be a new idea and a good 
one at that. I suppose a million stories will be gener- 
ated by this one. What’s more, the illustrations were 
good. 

2. ) WHEN PLANETS CLASHED— Reviving faith in 
M. W. Wellman. Well written, not too much romance, 
enough adventure and that too-often-mlssing factor, a 
plot. Am looking forward to the sequel. 

3. ) STELLLAR SNOWBALL— It’s hard to say which 
of toe shorts is worse. This one leads because it is 
without double talk. But of all the hacky stories! 

4 . ) THE SOMA RACKS— Mrs. St. Oair might as well 
stick to detective stories. . . And it could have been 
such a good yam too. I’d like to see more of her- 
without toe double talk. 

What became of Eando Binder? Also that nut who 
used to travel through time with toe aid of a pro- 
fessor and got into such hilarious scrapes? Also 
Tubby toe dreamer? There’s too much of this lost- 
civilization and what-will-follow-in-the-atomic-age 
stuff. 

I want it understood plainly that I am no relation 
to our boy Joe — 10S6 West 35th Street, Los Angeles 7, 
California. 

One thing we object to in women is pointed 
out by you, Janice — their tendency to 
abandon all Daisy Mae-isms once they have 
thrown and hogtied their males. Don’t let it 
happen to you, with or without Belarski’s 
aid. Anent Mrs. St. Clair’s double talk, col- 
loquialisms of any era sound double-ish 
when moved forward or aft in time. We 
thought her “created” slang one of the out- 
standing features of the story — and still do. 
It’s a very neat trick — and a very difficult 
one as well. 

The Eando Binder question is already an- 
swered in this column. As for your time 
wanderer, that was Pete Manx. Arthur K. 
Barnes and Henry Kuttner took turns writ- 
ing him under a co-pseudonym and he was 
truly hilarious. Remember when he went 
back to the days of the Wall Street boom in 
the twenties to clean up on the Stock Ex- 
change and started the 1929 Crash? Wish 
they’d write us some more of them, but the 
vein seems to have been worked out 

Too bad you aren’t related to JoKe. But 
you gave us enough laughs as it was. 

WHO’S FLAT? 

by E. A. McKinley 

Dear Editor: Give Mr. Leinster a placative pat on 
the back, tell him I said LAWS OF CHANCE was 
very nice, but couldn’t he do better next time? I 
applaud the idea behind the story. 

The highly sophisticated note which you say M. 
St. Clair brings to the STP field was distinctly flat m 
her SOMA RACK story. There was actually no 
reason for the story’s existence. 

STELLAR SNOWBALL leaves me cold (any old pun 
in a storm, particularly a “snow storm”). Tell Mr. 
Barrett to put some meat on the bones next time. 

All In ail, it was a swell issue. Only one thing 
wrong with it, I couldn't gripe about die H of F story. 
M.W.M. is always welcome in these parts (Pardon em 
wah, msieu, correct that to read MWW). — 501 East 
Lincoln^ Wellington^ Kansas. 



Perhaps a little more sophistication on the 
part of some of the fans might help all 
around. It is not necessary to live in a ter- 
race apartment overlooking Fifth Avenue to 
acquire it. Or is maturity a better word? 

BELARSKI TRAPPED! 

by Wally Weber 

Dear Editor: I see you trapped a new cover ardst. 
I figured you would get rid of Bergey after sneaking 
a couple of spaceships on the January cover like he 
did. Rudy does quite well though. At least we got 
a good trade-in. 

Wow! Quick Flintheart, the seed peas* my left 
ventricle can’t stand the shock! A Hall of Fame classic 
that is actually a terrific story! What won't you think 
of next? Give my regards and a carton of Startling 
Stories to Mr. Wellman for a swell story. 

Keep up the good toil on the fanzine reviews. 1 
don’t know why I like the things, but I do. And while 
I am on the subject of upkeep, I wish you would keep 
up your policy of cutting letters except in the cases 
of Chad Oliver and JoKe. In fact why not hire them 
to do short, absurd stories on whatever they feel like 
writing about? (Oh, I didn’t know there were so many 
reasons.) 

No complaints on the March thrill except that the 
short stories were hard to take. I . . . guess I will still 
buy your mag. In fact, try and stop me. — Box 
Ritzville, Washington. 

We wouldn’t think of trying, Wally, bless 
you. 

A MIGHTY MAN IS HE 

by W. R. Mullison 

Dear Editor: I have been informed that you can 
tell me where E. E. Smith has published a couple of 
his stories in novel form. I understand the two pub- 
lish^ were THE SKYLARK OF SPACE and THE 
galactic PATROL. I would like to order these 
two volumes as well as LENSMEN if I knew where 
th^ could be obtained. — 2010 Ashman Street. Midland, 
Michigan. 

THE SKYLARK OF SPACE was pub- 
lished by the Hadly Publishing Company, 
271 Doyle Avenue, Providence 6, Rhode Is- 
land. 'ITiis same firm is. I believe, soon to 
publish others of the series. But the other 
E. E. Smith published is SPACEHOUNDS 
OF IPC. not GALACTIC PATROL. Fantasy 
Press of Reading, Pennsylvania, published it 
and lists the same author’s TRIPLANETARY 
among its forthcoming issues. All of these 
books are priced at $3.00 per copy. 

TRADER CORN 

by Lynn A, Hickman 

Dear Editor: I have been reading your magazine 

since the first issue and so I thought it was about time 
I wrote and told you I like it. I haven’t got very 
many kicks coming, as I like most of your stories. 
Edmond Hamilton is the best writer you have. I’ll 
never forget his “Three AFSaneteers”. 

I have a fair collectiort'tlf' Science Fiction k Fantasy 
mags that I would like to trade. Anybody wishing 
to swap, write. All letters answered — Box 
Napoleon, Ohio. 

You have our permission, Lynn, so go right 
ahead. 



THE ETHER 

KNOCKED OUT 

by Robert Griffin 

Dear Editor: It's high time that I told you how 

much I enjoy Startling Stories. I get hour after hour 
of entertainment. Oh, yes I do. I always read it two 
or three times. 

Allow me to compliment you and the author for 
‘The Laws of Chance.” Not since “After World's 
End” have I read such a splendid story. PS. AWE was 
written in 1934, or along about then. 

May I make just one complaint? As per usual, the 
covers which illustrate some story always contain 
something or other that is not in the story. For in- 
stance: on the March ish, rocket ships can be seen 
in the background. As I gathered from the story, 
they were supposed to have been knocked out (and 
crashed shortly thereafter) just as they came over the 
horizon. These, however, seem to be peacefully flying 
along through the sky. Oh well, maybe it's me who's 
dumb. And when did Jane Russell begin posing for 
the covers? Tut. Tut. — 1328 Ballard Avenue, Dallas, 
Texas. 

Perhaps it was a very low horizon — if any- 
one else looked at it. Otherwise, thank you 
too, Robert. A very Fort-Worthy letter. 

WHOST WHOSTIES! 

by Paul Anderson 

Dear Editor: In the March issue of SS, the reader 
is helped to the same old hash, the blue plate special 
which seems ageless and enduring — but still mildly 
nourishing and digestible in our battered twentieth- 
century literary stomachs. I like hash. Most of the 
readers who beef should realize that, for 15c, they get 
a pretty fair outlay of stuff in SS and TWS. 

The Laws of Chance employs the same good old 
plot of the battered minority tugged through a mess 
of words to the expected victory. Not so bad, though. 
It's readable and interesting if only for the characters. 

Science-fiction fans should read one of the big 
woman-interest slicks before settling down with their 
favorite SF mag. No. I’m not comparing magazine 
fields. It's just that SF stays with you. You remember 
the stories and if you don’t like ’em you know why. 
It's all the difference between cotton-candy and a 
hamburger, SF being the meatball. 

The Soma Racks is adequate. Do you suppose 
“Whost” is the equivalent of “Whost Whosties”? 
Bollo and Geela Nuts sound interesting. Glad they 
still have pie in the future; Jick ate three slabs. So 
they still have flies, too, what with DDT etc. 

Stellar Snowball plus Mr. Marchioni (is it true he 
holds his pen in his teeth?) is a mean trick to play on 
your reader, Editor. Put Barrett and Mr. M. both on 
pensions. 

When Planets Clashed, Mr. Wellman and the illus- 
trator . . . ? Well, I'm still good for fifteen cents, 
Editor. — 6702 Windsor Avenue, Berwyn, Illinois. 

Tell your dealer to let you hav’^e it for four- 
teen cents after that one, Paul. I’m sure he 
won’t mind as long as you give him a penny 
tip. Whost Whosties — uuggghhh! 

SUCCINCT YET! 

by John Walsh 

Dear Editor Enclosed find a few random thoughts, 
commonly known as a fan letter. I'll try to make it as 
succinct as possible. 

Belarski cover — he's improved since the horrors he 
passed off on TWS years ago.d*4?^d it’s quite a bit 
better than the last few Ber^y«. 

Leinster’s novel fine, per usual. Most “different” 
novel you’ve printed since .... since .... huh. Skip 
the since and put a period. Superb dialogue and char- 
acterization. Definitely first-rate. 

Wellman’s Hall of Famer exceptionally good, for a 
change; compare it with “Solar Invasion”. Didn’t 



VIBRA’TES 1)7 

think you could. Rather ancient pic. don't you think^ 
Morey? Wesso? Kildale? Who knows? 

“The Soma Racks” was, as you said, well-wr't'en 
and amusing. Can’t see any resemblance to Brackett, 
tho. The other thing was, in Chad Oliver's words — 
Wow! SPACE PIRATES!! 

Finlay’s good; has done much better, however. 
Whoozis absent. Too bad. Marchioni present. Ditto 

As for this Wells business, I liked the “First Men 
in the Moon,” just to be different. Haven't read “The 
Time Machine”. 

What is Bill Weeks gibbering about in his last two 
paragraphs? 

You discussed the dearth of depiction of truly alien 
life-forms in stf. “A Martian Odyssey” had some 
cuties in that line. And TWS’s “The Lotus Eaters” 
created a truly unearthly atmosphere (and presumably 
creatures) which was quite outre and effective. That 
quality. I agree, is very rare. Very. 

Good issue, this. Have great expectations for “Lands 
of the Earthquake”. — 154 North Main Street, St. 
Alban's, Vermont. 

That was Napoli who illustrated the HofF 
in the March issue — and he’s a newcomer. 
Who’s Whoozis, huh? As for Weeks, you 
have us there. Maybe he can elucidate — 
maybe. We still like Leinster’s DE PRO- 
FUNDIS on alien life forms. 

SOMAS ON THE RACK 

by John W. Patch 

Dear Editor: Cheers for the March issue! “The Laws 
of Chance” was an excellently written novel— rLeinster 
can be depended on for that type of work — with an 
excellently developed theory. “When Planets Clashed” 
— fair. “Stellar Snowball” — a better-than-average short. 
“The Soma Racks” — !!?? What gives? No point to the 
thing! WHY DID YOU PRINT IT? 

The cover was pretty fair. Ah, yes, the femme was 
pretty, too. But here comes an old gripe — why don’t 
the artists read the stories they illustrate? I quote from 
page 27 (This is before the scene illustrated) “Frances 
came back to them, radiant. The whipcord slacks and 
the corduroy jacket fitted her.” Yet, on the cover, she's 
wearing a badly tom scarlet dress! Of course, the slacks 
and the jacket wouldn’t show off as much of the 
feminine form divine. . . . 

I was amazed to see the number of readers that 
praised last fall’s Captain Future novel. I wonder what 
a survey of the ages — or more accurately, the mental 
ages — of tliese lovers of the “space-opera” would show? 
New Concord, Ohio. 

If you failed to get the point of THE SOMA 
RACKS, we would very much like to have a 
record of your own mental age, Johnny-boy. 
Read it again after you have been married 
for awhile — or better yet, have your wife 
read it. 

Re your insulting remarks anent the Be- 
larski cover — when you said that slacks and 
jacket failed to show off the feminine 
(hmmph, always thought it was “female”) 
form divine, *you said all. 

Next, please. . . . 

WHAT IS SOMA? 

by Jack Doherfy 

Dear Editor: Generally after reading Startling Stories 
I put it aside and forget about it never bothering to 
comment about the stories to you through the medium 
of The Ether Vibrates. 

But when I finished the March Issue I figured it was 
about time that I put in my little say along with the 
many others. So here goes; 

The stories were good as usual with every issue of 
S.S. But Manly Wade Wellman’s exciting yarn, WHEN 
PLANETS CLASHED, was certainly tops in my estima- 



tion and I’m glad to see that you are going to present 
a sequal to this story in the next issue. 

THE lAWS OF CHANCE by Leinster was pretty dull 
stun. It had some thought behind it I'll admit, but the 
story wasn’t very convincing. But better luck next time. 

THE SOMA RACKS was short and sweet but re- 
sembled a scientific version of a daytime soap opera. 
But I’m still in the dark as to what a soma bottle is 
or for ttiat matter what a soma rack is. But still it was 
a fine story with a humorous side to it. 

Changing the policy of your readers colunrn was a 
godsend. Now maybe I can imderstand some of the 
things you print in that department. The other de- 
partments are tops especially the review of the fan- 
zines which makes your mag the best of its type on the 
stands. — 6S Lotimer Avenue, Toronto 12, Ontario. 

Soma? What is Soma? What is a soma 
rack? 

The last is easy to answer. A soma rack 
is a rack which keeps a soma bottle upright 
so that the bouquet of the pleasant elixer will 
not be dulled by tilting. As to what soma 
is, you’d better write Mrs. St. Clair. And 
shame on you for finding the Leinsterepic 
dull! 

LEAPING UNA 

by Lin Carter 

Dear Editor: The sign on the door proudly said YE 
ED. Ignoring this, toe virile youth blithely pushed open 
the door and entered the sanctum sanctorum. Behind 
toe desk, perched on a swivel chair sat a portly gentle- 
man, with thinning hair, what is referred to in polite 
society as “middle-age spread”, and ulcers. 

He leaned back and, pushing a green eye shade from 
his eyes glared belligerently at the youth and bellowed, 
'*What the Ghu do you think you’re doing in here?’* 

The handsome youth calmly brushed a pile of dusty 
manuscript onto the floor and seated himself in toe 
chair. “I’m Lin Carter, and I’ve come about toe March 
ish of Startling.” 

Saturn rubbed his hands together gleefully and 
beamed over the rejection slips at toe youth. “Well 
then, Okay.” He tapped his teeto with a poor attempt at 
being casual, “Ah. . . . how did you like the . . . er 
. . . cover?” 

“Although It’s a break in the monotony to see 
Belarski, the cover was, to put it bluntly, awful,” 
Carter said, coolly flicking some dust from his coat with 
a used novelette. 

“Oh ... I see ...” Saturn said, crestfallenly, 
“Well, how about the Lead Novel?" 

“Pretty good ... in fact, quite good. Although I can 
usually eitoer take Leinster or leave him alone, this 
novel is going to make me a Leinster fan! Swell 
Finlays, tool 

The Sarge grinned enthusiastically, “I liked it too! 
How about the Hall of Fame novelet?” 

“Best story in the whole mag! And good pics, too. 
They look like Scheenan.” 

“Shorts?” toe Sarge said tentatively. 

“Average, only average. “The Soma Racks’ was a 
nice one. The other was rather hacky. Warm plot. The 
'Mad Mark’, as Oliver cleverly coined, really loused 
up the illustrations, also.” 

“Er . . . how was toe reader column?” Saturn asked, 
apprehensively. 

“Pretty good. You really cut the letters up, too. 
Garven Berry, Kennedy, and Perry all had good letters. 
Noticed a neat note from my friend Guerry Brown. As 
a whole it was a pretty good issue, Editor, many more 
like it! 8B5 20th Ave. So., St. Petersburg 6, Fla. 

The above is the sort of letter we no 
longer print. However, in the interests of 
self-justification, Ye Ed does not sit on a 
swivel chair, his hair is not thinning and he 
is totally ulcer- less. Furthermore, he neither 
wears a green eyeshade (nor any other kind) 
and does not say “Ghu!” 

Otherwise your portrait is essentially cor- 
rect 



KOEHLERS TO NEWCASTLE 

by John Koehler 

Dear Editor: This time I will write what every other 
little eager beaver who writes those things called hack 
letters writes about, namely your mag. The stories 
were all good, but haven’t I read a few hundred other 
stories like the HOF before sometime? The pics were 
pa'ssable except toe one on page 88. The cover was Its 
usual lousy self, only more so. That thing ye hero is 
holding looks more like a telephone pole than toe secret 
weapon of Steve’s. 

Suggestion: why not put the front cover in back and 
the back cover in the front, or better still, just have 
two back covers one in back and one in front. Fd 
rather have “New Battery Lasts 93% Longer” staring 
me in the face every time I want to read toe mag than 
that thing I always see now. — 1018 South Sprague 
Avenue, Tacoma 6, Washington. 

Now, let’s get this straight — you want the 
front cover on the back and the back cover 
on the front and the edges . . . oops, you 
forgot the edges. We’ll have to go back to 
the Belars — -we mean the beginning. 

A pink slip trip for a blue slip trip and a 
blue slip trip for a. ... We give up! 

PEELED! 

by Gene A. Hyde 

Dear Editor: I don’t know if I’m allowed to men- 
tion the name of another magazine, but I would like 
to call your attention to an article in toe Sept., 1946, 
issue of Harper’s Magazine that is entitled “Little 
Supeiman, What Now”. The author of this article 
seems to think that the unlimited piossibilities of 
scienceftction have, at last, become limited. 

I won't attempt to point out how wrong he is* I'm 
afraid it would take up more space than toe letter 
column has. I just mentioned the article in case you 
or anyone else haven’t read it. Incidentally, your 
name is mentioned. 

Now that I have that off my chest, I’ll get down to 
toe latest iss. of S*S. which I’ve just flnished. Your 
novel was way above average this time. Leinster did 
a good job. Interesting plot, unique idea, well written. 
The laws of chance have always interested me, perhaps 
that’s why I liked the story. 

The short stories were both pretty good, “The 
Soma Racks” ranking above “Stellar Snowball” which 
was just anotoer space story, but good never-the-less. 
I like toe way Margaret St. Clair takes toe ordinary 
family life of the future and makes a story out of it. 
I think she sort of disproved her own theory that 
women can’t compete with men in toe s.f. field, with 
that story- 

I don’t know when the HoF. story was written, but 
the style went back to the days of Wells. I had heard 
a lot about the yam though, so I looked forward , to it. 
It was good, even if, as I said, the style was a little old. 

The Ether Vibrates was, as usual, very good. In my 
opinion it, and the letter column in TWS, are tied for 
first place among the lettei^ to the editor columns. 

Well, that’s about all for tois iss. However, I would 
like to repeat the offer I made in a letter to TWS. 
The offer I made was this: I would like to argue with 
anyone about anything, either through this column 
or by personal letter. — 400 East 8th, Beardstown, HI. 

Why not start your own argument, Gene? 
We’re all for it as we have stated many 
times. Darn it, the St. Clair story -ujos a 
cutie — we’re glad you found it so too. 

Which ends the list of intelligible (?) let- 
ters for this round. We are now in the process 
of retiring to our corner to take full ad- 
vantage of the teififLrest allowed us before 
the bell sounds again. Thanks, everyone, 
we’re looking forward to a real bloody nose 
next time* 



108 



—THE EDITOR. 



RtVICW or THE 
SCIENCE FICTION 
FAN TEJELICATiONS 



C HIEF news, this time, is the first post- 
war British fanzine to hit our desk. 
FANTASY REVIEW was announced 
at length in our last column by Editor Walter 
Gillings and — sure enough — it arrived in time 
for comment in this issue. 

Neatly printed in medium-small format of 
handy size, it is well backed by both British 
and American advertisers, a fact which we 
were glad to note. Following a cover edi- 
torial entitled REVIVAL — whose contents 
are thoughtful if a trifle obvious, it contains 
notes on other British stf magazines aborning, 
a tribute to the late Otis Adelbert Kline, an 




excellent profile of A. B. Chandler, a lengthy 
and informative stf gossip column called 
FANTASIA by Editor Gillings and a number 
of excellent reviews of current books and 
magazines. 

It seems to us that its editors have hit a 
happy policy of dignity without stuffed- 
shirtism. The whole thing is very happy 
indeed and we look forward to further issues. 
From its general tone of optimistic enthu- 
siasm, we might say, “There’ll always be an 
stf in England.” 

The “bubble-bath” technique of Virgil 
Finlay is triumphantly demonstrated in a 
portfolio of eight fine reproductions of his il- 
lustrations for one of our rivals, put out by 
the ubiquitous Walter Dunkelberger of the 
Fargo, North Dakota, Dunkelbergers. Es- 
pecially pleased were we to spot the presence 
of a number of BEMs peering through the 
starfish, crayfish and sea anemones which 
drift and cluster charmingly around his 
human figures. We like BEMs. We also like 
Finlay. Thanks, Dunk. 

We also wish to tliahy Virginia Laney 
“Jim-E” Daugherty of 106714 West 39th 
Place, Los Angeles 37, California, publisher 
of the meritorious BLACK FLAMES, last 

[Turn page] 





FREE ! ! ! 

Send for Thrilling 
"BLUE BOOK 
OF CBIMB" 



YOU ARE UNDER ARRESYl 



THERE’S A THRILL IN BRINGING A CROOK 
TO JUSTICE THROUGH SCIENTIFIC 

CRIME DETECTION! 

I have taught thousands this exciting, profitable, 
pleasant profession. Let me teach you, too. In your 
A ' own home. Learn Finger Printing, Pirearma 

Identification, Police Photography 
•. *^1 and Criminal Investigation thor- 
oughly, quickly, and at small cost, 

53 % of All American Bureaus 

of Identification employ students or graduates 
of I. A. S. You, too, can fit yourself to fill a 
responsible crime detection Job with good pay and 
steady employment. But don't delay — get the de- 
tails now. Let me show you how easily and com- 
pletely I can prepare you for this fascinating 
work, during spare time, in your own home. Tou 
may pay as you learn. Write today . . . Kow * 

Be sure to state age. 

INSTITUTE OF APPLIED SCIENCE 

1920 Sunnyside Ave., Dept. T96.B, Chicago 40, Illinois 

STDDT AT HOME for PEKSONAI, SUCCESS 
and LARGER EARNINGS. 38 yearn es^iert in- 
struction— over 108,000 students enrolled, LL.B. 
Degree awarded. All texts furnished. Easy pay- 
ments. Send for FREE BOOK. 

AMERICAN EXTENSION SCHOOL OF LAW 
Dept. 78-T. 646 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago I L III. 

What To Do For Pains of 

ARTHRITIS 
Try This Free 

If you have never used “Rosse Tabs” for pains or ar- 
thritis, neuritis, rheumatism, we want you to try them 
at our risk. We will send you a full-size package from 
which you are to use 24 Tabs FREE. If not aston- 
ished at the palliative relief which you enjoy from your 
sufferings, return the package and you owe us nothing. 
We mean it! SEND NO MONEY. Just send name and 
address and we will rush your Tabs by return mail. 
ROSSE PRODUCTS CO., Dept. 908, 2708 Farwell 
Ave., Chicago 45, Illinois. 



High School Goursc 

at Home i 



Many Finish in 2 Y< 



|AW 



[ Go as rapidly as tout time and abilities permit. Coursa 
equivalent to resident school work — prepares forcoilega 
entr^ce exams.^Standard H. S. texts supplied, ptploma. 

sii 
bo 
lif 

r 



, — d foctellr. DM't b* bacdinDpad all jwnr 

I lif* '69 • Biffb School sradoate. Start 7«st tninlns DOW. Wt— 
\ Bollatia on rtgaost. No obliBatieo, 

Amerien School, Dept, H-BS8y Drexel at SSthi Chieago37 



PLAY GUITAR 
THE 




UDV Fny pontmao onl 
nci ■ Dias Dostaeawid ' 

chargea^ or send gl.OO and e«t gtrSA SONiiS 
all pos^Bldn (Canada. Sl.^ 5 oioDV<>ve«renly.) Motbmgolfato bar. 
Positive moner back guarantee, ordtr - 

WESTERN RANGER STUDIOS* Deftt.47ro HufehlnsoRf Kan$, 



PICTURE 
RING $1. }, 

Exquisite Picture Rinfi^mmde from any PpO". rj 
SEND NO MONEY! Mail photo with paper stop 

Pa vnASHTIATI OTll V SI DlUS DOStagC, Ual 




109 





VETS!%ISCIMRGE RING 



Handsome, hefty Genuine Sterling Silver Honorable 
Discharge Ring, yellow gold finish, only $1.98 plus tax. 

SEND NO MONEY 

me. address, and ring size. Pay postman only $1.98 pins 
I and postage *■“ — '■ »« ia Hnwa fnr 



WILL YOU WEAR THIS 



AND MAKE UP TO $12.00 IN A DAY! 

YOU CAN GET this fine, tdlored-to-measnre snit ^ a 
bonus, withont paying one penny cash, by taking a few 
orders from friends. My plan also helps yon make op 
to $12.00 in a day without expen’enco or house^to- 

j^^^fBu^^HtDonar'inakins plans. For qoick action write 
Wd no money. H. J. Collin. PROGRESS TAILORING COMPANY^ 
SOO South Thraoo Street, Oept. 0-377 Chicago 7, ininois 




RUPTURE! 






An amazing Air-Cushion 1 
Invention allows body | 
fr^dom at work or play. 1 
light, neat,cool,sanitary. . 

Durable, cheap- Day and night protection heipe 

Naturesupport weakened musclesgentlybutsurely. 
No risk. Sent on Triall Write NOW for free Booklet and 
Proof of Results. All correspondence confidential. 

Brooks Company, 382.N State St, Marshall, Mich. 

1 

m This new 128-page book, “Stammering, 
m Its Cause and Correction,”^ describes the 
m Bogue Unit Method for scientific 

m correction of stammering and 

M stuttering — successful for 46 , 

M yearSe Free — tio obligation. 

Benjamin N. Bogue, Dept. 4280, Circle 
Tower, Indianapolis 4, Ind, 



STAMMGR? 



i BifcR.- 

V 



FOR ITCHiNO. BURNING, tRRITATION OP 



ECZEMA 



PSORIASIS 

Athlete’s Foot 

Amazing Wonder Cream — 14 DAYS FREE TRIAL 

Do tiny water blisters form? Do dry scaly patches form? 
Does skin crack, thicken, peel, or swell? Does itching, 
burning, redness become intense? 

SEND NO MONEY—UNLESS 100^ SATISFIED 

MAIL COUPON TODAY • 
k WILEY PRODUCTS— Dept. TG7 
I 4300 Drexel Blvd., Chicago 15, 111, 

• Send postpaid full size jar Wiley’s Wonderful Skin 
! Cream for 14 days Free Trial. Will use it faithfully. 

I If not satisfied will notify you within 20 days after 
I receiving jgrj otherwise will keep jar and pay for it. 

! NAME AGE 



ADDRESS - 
CITY 



STATE 



FUNNIEST CARTOONS BY AMERICA’S 
PREMIER LAUGH-MAKERS 

!N 



reviewed in the Fall, 1946, issue. She prom- 
ises further activity, not only in her own 
editorial rites of Diana, but sends word of a 
new stag mag to be entitled WOLF FAN. 
We await both with eager anticipation and 
hope only that the latter product does not 
turn out to be a sheep in wolf’s clothing. 

With which, to the general relief, we again 
turn to the magazines on hand for criticism. 
With a couple of exceptions, which shall be 
duly applauded, the output this time was 
about average. But we’ll let the reviews 
speak for themselves. 

Twelve publications made the A-list, be- 
ginning with: 

EBON FIRE, 987 Schenectady Avenue, Brook- 
lyn 3, New York. Editor, Leatrice Budoff. Pub- 
lished irregularly. No price listed. 

Miss Budoff has dedicated her one-gal magazine, of 
which this is the first issue, to Jim-E Daugherty “to 
comfort her for the premature death of her brain- 
child” — hey, if this is BLACK FLAMES, what about 
Jim-E’s letter just noted, stating that further issues 
are to come? Otherwise, as publisher, editor, author, 
artist and staff, the forthright Miss Budoff has done 
a whale of a job. Her fan column is bright, her stories 
pleasantly sardonic and her poetry up to fanzine par. 
Most amusing, however, are her drawings, which 
never saw the inside of an art school and, praise 
Allah! — never will. Fine stuff, Lee. 

GORGON, 4936 Grove Street. Denver 11, Col- 
orado. Editor, Stanley Mullen. Published bi- 
monthly. 15c per copy, 4 for 50c. 

Well worth A-list rating is the second neophyte to 
be reviewed, from the cover on down the line. Ger- 
trude Voorhies (a newcomer to us) has an excellent 
little fantasy in DARKNESS and the fangossipery and 
editorials are fine. However, the cartoons remain a bit 
too bizarre and we scent an over-preoccupation with 
the works of A. Merritt, that only slightly-super E. 
Rice Burroughs of fantasy. The Denver gang, on the 
whole, however, deserves high praise for this one. 

FANEWS, 1443 Fourth Avenue South, Fargo, 
North Dakota. Editor. Walter Dunkelberger. 
Published irregularly, 2c per sheet, 55 sheets 
$ 1 . 00 . 

Better and better grows this sturdy oak of fanzines, 
with its plethora of announcements, chatter and fan- 
vertisements. Only when Dunk tees off in a personal 
controversy does FANEWS pall and either the fans 
have learned to leave him alone or his hide has 
thickened. At any rate, this issue is feudless and 
the better for it. • 

FANTASY REVIEW, 1946-47, 84 Baker Ave- 
nue, Dover, New Jersey. Editor, Joe Kennedy. 
Published annually. No price listed. 

A monumental job by the VAMPIRE mdn. a 76-page 
ship of the line, featuring intelligent reviews of all 
phases of fandom and professional stfdom which 
features perhaps the best of the annual polls on just 
about everything. The brightest fanzine light of many 
a long and weary month on Terra — need we say more? 
Congratulations, Josephus. 

ICHOR, 649 South Bixel Street, Los Angeles 
14, California. Editor, Dale Hart. Published 
irregularly. 10c per copy. 

Another spawn of the Southern California gang, 
running heavily to poetry and starring an Alva Rogers 
cover worth several second looks and a translation 
from the Esperanto by Myrtle Douglas (Morojo) which 
probably should ha^ i^^^retranslated into Ido. Just 
fair. ■* ' 



CARTOON HUMOR 

NOW ON SALE— 25c AT ALL STANDS! 



LUNACY, 1115 San Anselmo Avenue, San 
Anselmo, California. Editor Jawge Caldwell. 
Published irregularly. 5c per copy. 

Just how this rates Ihe A-list we can’t quite decide. 



110 






SrOOrATHOME 



DETECTIVES 

^TRAINING-SECRET IMVESTIOATIONS-FINGER PRINTS 

Easv Method — Short Time. Home— Travel — Secret Code-BooklM 
FREE — WRITE, INTERNATIONAL DETECTIVE SYSTEM, 1701-T 
Monroe St., N. E., Washington, D. C. 18. 



Approved by Parents and Teachers! 

Now On Sale lOc At All Stands 



• MECHANICS •HOME STUOY 

Step up your own skill with facts & figures of your trade. 

• Audels Mechanics Guides contain Practical Inside Trada 
Information in handy form. Fully illustrated. Easy to 
' Understand. Highly Endorsed. Check book you want foi? 

— 7 days' Free Examination. Send no Money. Nothing to 

V paypostman.DCarpentry$6» □Auto$4« □OilBurners$l 
□Sheet Metal $1 • DWelding $1 • □ EefrigerationwJ4 

• □Plumbing $6 • DMasonry $6 • DPainting $2 • DRadio $4 
□Electricity $4* DMathematics $2 • DSteam Engineers $4 
□Machinist §4* GBlueprint§2» □Diesel?2 • ODrawing$2. 

If satisfied you pay only $1 a month until price is paid. 

# AUDEL, Publishers, 49 W. 23 St., New York 10, N. Y, 

LOCKSMITHIHE 

and Key Making I 

etc. S3 easy illustrated SELP>INSTRUCtiON LESSONS 

for every handy man, home-owner, carpenter, mechanic, etc. 
Satisfaction eoaranteed. Send for Snccess-cataloK FREE. 

N£LS0NC0..1138S.Wabash, Dept. 06,' ChIcaeoS 






MAKE $30-$40 A WEEK 

Practical nurses are needed in eveiy 
community . . . doctors rely on them . . . 
patients appreciate their cheerful, ex- 
pert care. You can learn practical 
nursing at home in spare time. Coursa 
endorsed by physicians. 48th yr. Earn. 
While learning. High School not re- 
huired. Men, women, 18 to 60. Trial plan. Write now! 
CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSING 
Dept. 426, 100 East Ohio Street, Chicago It, III. 
Please send free booklet and 16 sample lesson pages. 

Name 

Staid.,., Ags 



but the cover and printing have improved and Doris 
Currier has written a poem which we hope was meant 
to be funny. It is. Otherwise about like past issues. 

NATIONAL FANTASY FAN, 200 Williams- 
boro Street, Oxford, North Carolina. Kditor, 
Andy Lyon. Published monthly. No price listed. 

Nothing remarkable, but a competent journal for 
one of the major fan organizations. As such, it rates. 

PSFS NEWS, 122 South 18th Street, Phila- 
delphia 3, Pennsylvania. Editor? Published 
monthly. 10c per copy, 6 for 50c, 12 for $1,00, 
The Philadelphia boys have really made this into 
something, commencing with a non-dull but scholarly 
study of current stf trends by Sam Moskowitz and 
concluding with a poem translated from the Latin 
entitled REASONS FOR DRINKING. We never thought 
the ancient Romans needed any — nor do we. Very 
much okay, however. 

SCIENTIFICTIONIST, 13618 Cedar Grove, 
Detroit 5, Michigan. Editor, Henry Eisner Jr. 

£*u.t>llstLeci trregu.Ia.rly. lOc per copy, 3 l!oi' 2Sc, 

13 f&T m. 

St^p^ricnr issue ttxis time, -witfc -Tee ev-er. 

§om| to hat for the late Captain Future in a thought- 
ful article on the influence of stf toward a better 

world. Book reviews by Ackerman and r^orman 

?ffi% !> M % 

forgotten prozine and a short on Weinbaum and 
semantics by Robert L. Stein. Eisner and cohorts can 
take a bow. 

SHANGRI L’AFF AIRES, 6371/2 South Bixel 
Street, Los Angeles 14, California. Editor, Charles 
Burbee. Published 7 times a year, he believes. 

[Turn page} 

inspiring True Picture-Stories of 
Adventure and Achievement! 



DRAW for 



mm 



Be An ARTIST! 

PREPARE TODAY FOR THE 
FUTURE THAT LIES AHEAD 
Trained Artists Are Capable of 
Earning $50, $60, $75 A WEEK 
Use your spare time to prepare for a profit-^ 
able Art Career! Start training at home, now! 

It’s pleasant and interesting to study Art the 
W. S. A. way. COMMERCIAL ART, DESIGNING. 
CARTOONING— all in one complete course. No 
previous Art experience necessary— we teach 
you step-by-step by our practical home study 
method well-known since 2914. Write today 
for information in FREE BOOK, ”ABT FOB 
PLEASURE ANT> PROFIT”— tells all about Our 
course, material furnished, instruction senrica 
and commercial opportunities for you in art, 
STATE AGE. 

Course Approved Under G.I. Bitt 

WASHINGTON SCHOOL OF ART 

|fu«li9867H|SU5-15thSt.,N.W.,Wash.5.D.C- 



LAW, 



t • t 



. ..3 w/b A/.S'/ref' 

r success in business 

3 pubhciitt. Urtarer 
More AbilHy: Mere Prestige; More Money 
can tmin at home dorms spare time. De^Se of LL.B. We furnish all 
text material, inclading 14-volume Law Library. Low cost, fiMf 
terms. Get oar valuaDle 48-page "Law Tmming for Leadership'^’ 
«nd “Evidence” books F REE . Se^d NQW, G. I. APPROVED.^ 
LASALLE EXTENSION ilNlVERSlIV. dlTSouth Dearborn Street 
A Correspondence institution Dept. 7329-L. Chicago S, III, 



Banish the craving for tobacco aa 
thousands have with Tobacco 
Redeemer. Write for free booklet 
telling of injurious effect of tobacco 
and of a treatment which has reliev- 
ed many men. Caution: 

Use only as directed. 

30 Years in Business 



THE NEWELL COMPANV 



FREE 

BOOK 



153 Clayton, Sta., St Louis 5, Mo. 



CONFlbtHtlAL LOAN SERVICE 



Barraw $SO 




IT IS EASY TO 

BORROW 
BY MAIL! 

CJompIetely cozt* 
fidentialand 
private 
CONVENIENT 
M O N T H LY 
PAYMENTS 



STATE 

303 Marine BlUg. 



NO CNOORSERS neeoeo) 

Employed men and tvomen of gooa> 
character can solve their money prob« 
lems quickly and in privacy withloans 
MADE BY MAiU No endorser? or co* 
signers. We do not contact employere,) 
friends or relatives .Convenient month* 
ly payments. Send us your name ana 
address and we will mail apphciuioa 
blank and complete details FRElil la 
plain envelope. Thereis noobligation« 

FINANCE CO. 

Dept. IVI-S2 • New Orieans 12, La. 





CASH CARNINC5, TOO! Big news! This fine tailored 
yours without paying one cent»and big cash earnings. 
It's easy! Just take a few orders for famous Gibson Tai* 
loring. Earn up to $10 in a day and get your own suit 
as extra bonus. Dozens of rich new fabrics, superbly 
tailored In latest styles, at low prices produce orders on 
Bight. Money back guarantee, FREE SAMPLES! Write 
today giving name, address, age, etc., for big complete 
outfit {Of actual samples and details of amazing new 
Bonus Suit and money*making plan — All Sent Free! NO 
experience. SEND NO MONEY! W. Z. GIBSON, Inc., 
500 S. Throop St., Dept. U>677, Chicago 7, Hi. 

BEA DETECTIVE 

WORK HOME or TRAVEL. Experience unnecessary, i 

DETECTIVE Particulars FREE. Write to! 

GEO. R. H. WAGNER, 125 W. 86th St., N. Y. ; 



What i¥@rjf Wants 

We have Important Masonic books for 
Blue Lodge, Chapter, Commandery, 
Scottish Rite, and Shrine. 

OUR RITUALS ARE USED THE WORLD OVER 
Send for free catalog of books and 
rituals for Masons, Odd Fellows, 
of Fythias, Knights of Columbus, etc. 
EZRA A. COOK, Publisher, P. 0. 796, GJ, Chicago 90, III. 






HORSE MASTERY! 

7 A f INE HOBSY — A GREAT VOCATION 1 



'Th« EXPERT HORSEMAN” 



FREE BOOK ^T.1, Iww Ym <ct l«<n> Hi 
BREAK COLTS. GAIT SHOW HORSES, TRAIN ^ 

RODEO. STOCK RACE HORSES, BREAK BAD HABIT^ ___ 
handle any HORK. train circus trick horses. WRITE TOOATI 

ANIMAL LOVERS ASSOCIATION 

eox TH-1S7 TARZANA, CAUFORNIA 

STUDY AT HOME 

WITH AN EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTION 
Courses in ENQIKCCRING: Electrical; Civil; Mechanical; Drafting: 
Architectxiral; Automotive; Steam; Diesel; Aeronautical; Radio; struc- 
tural; Mining; Industrial; Petroleum; Marine; Refrigeration: Air Con* 
ditloning; Chemical. 

Courses in ARTS AND SCIENCES: Philosophy; Education; Letters: 
Psychology; Public Health; Medical Jurisprudence; Sociology; Physics; 
Chemistry; Geology; Pol. Science; Theology; Law; Business end Com* i 
merce; Accounting; Mathematics; Statistics; Agriculture, 

WcKinley-RooseveH tnc., 461Q*Y*77, S heridan Rd., Chicago 40, IIMnoie I 

SMART SIMULATED 

DiAMOND RINGS 

$1.95 $2.95 

You will love to wear these beautiful 
Engagement and Wedding rings, set with 
spariding simulated diamonds, a perfect 
reproduction of genuine diamond rings. 
You may have the rings in yellow Gold- 
Plate or Sterling Silver. 

Send No Money 

Just send name, address and ring size. 
Pay Postman on delivery plus 20% Fed- 
eral Tax and postage charges. 

CLARK RSNG D&pt. SS5, 0ex 3151, Ch(«o 90 , lUiRoii 




10c per copy, 3 for 25c, 6 for 50c. 

What can you say about this stand-by save that 
the doings of the LASFS gang are always lively and 
amusing and are here well reported. We even like 
their feuds. And while the current issue has nothing 
as lamentably uproarious as the account of the Lieb- 
scher picnic, Ackerman, Tigrina and Gus Willmorth 
are all present and accounted for and anyway how 
entertaining can you get? 

SPACE FLIGHT, 9 Bogert Place, Westwood, 
New Jersey. Editor, Gerry de la Ree. Published 
irregularly. 10c per copy. 

This issue of what we hope is not a one-shot has a 
simple purpose — the printing of the Beowulf poll on 
space flight. Just about everyone seems to believe 
men will someday be blithely skipping from planet to 
planet save for one fan, Thyril Ladd, and one pro 
editor who shall be nameless but who is always taking 
the RAP for something. 

STELLARITE, 4 Winship Avenue. San Ansel- 
mo, California. Editor, John Cockroft. Published 
irregularly. 10c per copy. 

This seems to us just about right for an amateur 
mag. The fiction is moderately interesting with no 
professional pretensions, and if the artwork is pretty 
poor, the reviews are good. A. E. Burton. Norm 
Storer, George Caldwell and Tigrina all get in solid 
licks. 

And now into the cellar for the B-list — 
oops, watch those furnace pipes! 

CHAOS, 4?y A Eagle Avenue, Alameda, California. 
Editor, George Ebey Published irregularly. No price 
listed. Billed as “the messy man’s Shangri TAffaires,” 
i.t certainly is. For some reason still unknown, how- 
ever. we chuckled over an item entitled I TALK WITH 
WORMS, unsigned. Remainder not as funny as editors 
hoped. Incidentally, we’d like this A Eagle business 
explained. 

FAN SPECTATOR. 20 King Street, New York 14, 
New York. Editor, Ron Maddox. Published bi-weekly. 
4c per copy, 7 for 25c. Mostly doings of ESFA with 
general reports on amateur and pro stfields. Wel- 
come newcomer. 

FANTASY TIMES, 101-02 Northern Boulevard, 
Corona, New York. Editor, James V. Taurasi. Pub- 
lished weekly. 5c per copy. 6 for 25c. Another good 
accounting of what goes on in Eastern fancircles ac- 
companied by pro book-and-magazine reviews. Feuds 
occasionally featured. 

FORLOKON. 4749 Baltimore Street, Los Angeles 48, 
California. Editor, Kenneth H. Bonnell. Published 
irregularly. No price listed. Odd little item on yellow 
paper, apparently built around a serial called SHANG- 
HAIED by one A. Weinstein. Seems to stress space opera. 

GLOM. Box 6475 Metro Station, Los Angeles 55, 
California. Editor, Forrest J. Ackerman. Published 
irregularly. No price listed. Interesting little pamphlet 
which is mostly Ackerman sounding off in his own 
inimitable manner — along with Lora Crozetti, Harold 
Applebaum and Ray Kirby. Grozetti has the smallest 
contribution, a mustachioed spider just above the 
contents table. 

GRIPES AND GROANS, 2962 Santa Ana Street, 
South Gate, California. Editor, Rick Sneary. Pub- 
lished irregularly. 5c per copy. A lot of short takes, 
pretty hard to read thanks to the hectoing. Some- 
body, however, checked Snearv’s spelling. 

PHILCON NEWS. 1366 East Columbia Avenue. Phila- 
delphia, Pennsylvania. Editor, Robert A. Madle. Pub- 
lished irregularly. No price listed. The title tells the 
story on this one — we’re for it. 

PSFS BULLETIN, 1366 East Columbia Avenue. Phila- 
delphia. Pennsylvania. Editor. Robert A. Madle. Pub- 
lished bi-weekly. No price listed. A one-sheet of 
Quaker City chatter. 

PSFS NEWS, 1366 East Columbia Avenue, Philadelphia, 
Pennsylvania. Editors, Robert A. Madle & Jack Agnew. 



ENTERTAiNMCrrr FOR EVERYBODY IN 

BEST CROSSWORD POZZLES 

NOW ON SALE — 25c AT ALL STANDS! 



Published bi-weekly. 5c per copy, 6 for 25c. We sus- 
pect this to be the successor of the BULLETIN. At 
any rate, it’s the same sort of stuff, but uses both 
sides of its single sheet. 

ROCKET NEWS LETTER, 10630 South St. Louis 
Avenue. Chicago 43, Illinois. Editor, Wayne Proell. 
Published monthly. No price listed. A new gazette 
for the Chicago Rocket Society of 9,000 Houston 
Avenue. Chicago, which indicates still further space- 
ship activity in that area. However, the journal 
would be a lot more interesting if a new mimeograph 
machine were used. Much of it can’t be read. 

SINE NOMEN, 902 North Downey Avenue, Downey, 
California. Editors, R. Sneary, G. Ayala and J. Van 
Couvering. Published irregularly. No price listed. A' 
new one with possibilities. Best item in it is a parody 
of you-know-what. THE TRAGEDY OF A, by Tom 
Jewett, who gives his occupation as mimeographer. 
From the looks of the issue, he had better get busy 
or learn another trade. 

SPICY SPACE STORIES, Mississippi Street, Law- 
rence, Kansas. Editors, N. Storer & A. Jones. Pub- 
lished irregularly. 5c per copy. A first try for these 
editors, with usual first-try troubles. But what is 
spicy in the zirie we cannot even guess. 

WG, 2837 San Jose Avenue, Alameda, California. 
Editor. Roger Rehm. Published irregularly. 3 for 10c. 
Wish someone would tell us what WG stands for. 
Then perhaps we could explain it. 

Well, there it is. Not outstanding, but not 
bad until the typographical trouble in the 
latter half of the B-list. For next issue, we 
plan to look into an issue of a year or so ago 
and tally the turnover. It seems to us to be 
terrific. But as long as a few stand-bys re- 
main and newcomers keep coming into the 
amateur publishing field this column will 
have its hands full. So be it. — THE EDITOR. 



r//£ 

U.S.COHST 

GUARD 






BIfifiER PAY THRB 
SPARE TIME TRAINING 

A better job — more money can be your# if you 
are ready. Prepare now in spare time and reap 
therewards of early success. Free 48-page books 
tell how. Check thebook in thebusiness field you 
like — write your name and address on margla 
of this ad and mail. Do it now. G. I. APPROVED. 

DHtgher Accountancy n Business MauagemeaH 
QTraffic Management D Salesmanship 
□Law— Degree of LL.B* DEzpert Bookkeeping 
OGommerciat Law DC. P. A. Coaching 

□Stenotypy (Machine Shorthand) 

LASALLE EXTENSION university 

}A Correspondence Institution 
417 So. Dearborn St. Depf.7329-R Chicago S. III. 

INVENTOR^ 

Lesrn how to protect your Invention. Secure booklet containing inror- 
matlon concerning patent protection end procedure — without obligatioiv 

aARENCe A. O'BRIfN « HARVEY JACOBSON 

Regisfertd Patent Attorneys 

78-G District National Bldg. Washington S. 0. C. 




Learn Profitable Profession 
in 96 days at lloine 



MEN AND WOMEN* 18 TO 50— Many Swedish Mas* 
•age srraduates make $50, $75 or even mot» pec 
week. E,arge full time Incomes from doctors, JJpapi* 
*ianatoriums, clubs or private practice. Others 
t tiVicB good money in spare time. You can win 
Independence and prepare for future security 
by training at home and qualifying foe 
Diploma, Anatomy Charts and 32 • pago 
Illustrated Book FREE— Now! THE Colley* 
of Swedish Massage, Dept, 763Ht 100 E« 
Ohio St., Chicaao lli HI# 

RUPTURED? 

Get Relief This Proven Way 

Why try to worry alon^ with trusses that gougo your 
flesh — press heavily on hips and spine— enlarge opening — 
fail to hold rupture? You need the Cluthe. No leg-straps 
or cutting belts. Automatic adjustable pad holds at r^l 
opening — follows every body movement with instant in- 
creased support in case of strain. Cannot slip whether at 
work or play. Light. Waterproof. Can be worn in bath. 
Send for amazing FREE book, “Advice To Ruptured/’ and 
details of liberal truthful 60-day trial offer. Also endorse- 
ments from grateful users in your neighborhood. Write: 

Cluthe Sens, Dept. 33, Bloomfield, New Jersey 



OLD LEG iTROUBLE 



Easy to use Viscose Home Method. Heals many old 
leg sores caused by leg congestion, varicose veins, 
swollen legs and Injuries or no e<»t for trial if it 
fails to show results in 10 days. Describe sOOr 
trouble and get a FREE BOOK, 
r. G. VISCOSE COMPANY 
140 N. Denrborn Street, Chieoge 2, Illinois 

PORTRAIT PAINTING 
AT HOME 





LEARN 



• Previous art training or talent NOT 
necessary. This new Stuart System 
teaches you, in 11 simple, easy-to- 
follow lessons, to make ezact charcoal 
and oil likenesses. Guidance for your 
every step. Send for free book todays 
121 Monument Circle, Room 767, Indianapolis 9, Ind. 
Please send me free book and outline of lessons. 

IVame.. 

Street,..,,,, 

City .....Sfafe 



STUART 

STUOiOSp 



113 






Stuart Cloete's Best-Seliing 
Novel of the African Veldt... 



AT ALL 
STANDS 
NOW! 



A best seller in the original $2.50 POPULAR LIBRARY BOOK re* 
edition, Stuart Cloete’s Congo Song tailing at 2 5 We suggest that you 
may well break all records as a purchase your copy without delay ! 



Take an alluring, sophisticated woman who 
follows her scientist husband-in-name-only to 
a botanical station in equatorial Africa •- add 
five men shut off from all other women — 
bring to a boil in tropical heat — and you 
have the explosive recipe for Congo Song, 
Stuart Cloete’s most daring best seller! 

CURRENT POPULAR LIBRARY HITS 

Duel in the Sun by Niven Busch 
Bedelia by Vera Caspary 
Crucible by Ben Ames Williams 
Ramrod by Luke Short 

The Red House by George Agnew Chamberlain 
Popular Library, Inc., 10 East 40th St., N. Y. 16 



NWLEf 

0 Popular 
Library Book 



R. R. President never lets up! 




■ Following my graduation from 
the University of Illinois, I su6- 
scribed for and took a course with 
International Correspondence 
Schools. 2 thought then, as I do 
now, that the course w'as excel- 
lent It is my opinion that adult 
education is real education.” 

W. A. JOHNSTON. President 
Illinois Central System 



AN i. C. S. TRUE STORY 

Wayne A. Johnston at 47 is president of the 
Illinois Central — one of the nation’s largest rail- 
roads. He got there by setting a definite goal for 
himself and never letting up in his efforts to reach it. 

On graduation from college, Mr. Johnston 
started as an accountant with the Illinois Central. 
That’s when a man of less industry and imagina- 
tion would have let up on his studies. But Wayne 
A. Johnston enrolled for a course with Inter- 
national Correspondence Schools. 

His progress to the top since then has followed 
that same pattern . . . never letting up . . . always 
asking “What else can I do?” Now, as one of the 
youngest presidents of a major railroad, he’s still 
working and studying ... to increase the efficiency 
of the Illinois Central, to modernize equipment 
even more, to keep on moving forward. 

If you are asking “What else can I do?” you, 
too, may be destined for business leadership. The 
coupon gives you some idea of the more than 400 
business and technical subjects I. C. S. can help 
you to master. Mark and mail it today for full in- 
formation on the course in which you’re interested. 



INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS 



BOX 3970-J, SCRANTON 9, PENNA. 

Without cost or obligation, please send me full particulars about the course before which I have marked X: 




Business and 
Academic Courses 

□ Accouating □ Advertisuig 

□ Arithmetic □ Bookkeeping 

□ Business Correspondenee 
O Business Management 

□ Certified Public Accounting 

□ Commercial 

□ Cost Accounting 
D Federal Tax 

□ First Year College 

□ Foreroanship □ French 

□ Good English □ High School 

□ Higher Mathematics 

□ Illustrating C Motor Traffic 

□ Postal Service 

□ Salesmanship G Secretarial 

□ Sign Lettering 

□ Spanish G Stenography 
D Traffic Management 

Air Conditioning and 
Plumbing Courses 

□ Air Conditioning 

□ Heating □ Plumbing 



Chemistry Courses 

G Chemical Engineering 
i_i Chemistry. Analj'tical 
C chemistry. Industrial 
□ C’hemistry. Mfg. Iron Steel 



□ Radio Servicing 

□ Telegraph Engineering 
Electrical Courses 

□ Electric.! Drafting 

□ Electrical Engineering 



O Petroleum Refining □ Plastics □ Electric Light and Power 



□ Pulp and Paper Making 
Civil Engineering, Architec- 
tural and Mining Courses 

□ Architectural Drafting 

□ Architecture 

□ Building Estimating 



□ Lighting Technician 

□ Practical Electrician 

□ Power Hous., Electric 
Q Ship Electrician 

Internal Combustion 
Engines Courses 



O Refrigeration □ Steam Fitting □ Radio Oiwrating 



□ Civil Engineering □ Coal Mining □ Auto Technician □ Aviation 

O Contracting and Building □ Diesc! Electric 

□ Highway Engineering □ Diesel Engines 

G Lumber Dealer 
G Reading Structural Blueprints 
C Sanitary Engineering 
G Structural Drafting 
G Structural Engineering 
G Surveying and Mapping 

Communications Courses 
C Electronics 
C Practical Telepbon>- 
G Radio. General 



□ Mechanical Drafting 

□ Mechanical Engineering 
O Mold-Loft Wt k 

□ Patternmakine — Wood, Metal 

□ Reading Shop Blueprints 

□ Sheet-Metal Drafting 

□ Sheet-Metal Worker 

□ Ship Drafting □ Ship Fitting 

□ Tool Designing □ Toolmaking 

□ Welding — Gas and Electric 
Railroad Courses 

□ Air Brake □ Car Inspector 

□ Diesel Locomotive 

□ Locomotive Engineer 
□ Gas Engines □ Locomotive Fireman 



-Voiwe_ 



Mechanical Courses 

□ Aeronautical Engineering 
O Aircraft Drafting 

□ Flight Engineer 

□ Forging 

□ Foundry Work 

D Heat Treatment of Metals 
D Industrial Engineering 
U Industrial Metallurgy 

□ Machine Shop 

□ Machine Shop Inspection 

Home 

Address 



□ Railroad Section Foreman 
Steam Engineering Courses 

□ Boilermaking 

□ Combustion Engineering 

□ Engine Running 

□ Marine Engineering 

□ Steam Electric □ Steam Engines 
Textile Courses 

O Cotton Manufacturing 
O Rayon Weav g □ Textile Desig’ng 

□ Woolen Manufacturing 



-Ffesent Positicn^ 



Worlcing Houra— 



Length of Service in World War II ^ 



^peeicl tuition ratf:S to memhers of the Armed Forces. Enrcdlment under the €.1. Bill of Rights apprwed for War II Veterans. 
f'anQiUan rt'sidents send coupon to Iniernotional Correspondence Schools Canadian, Ltd., Montreal, Canada. 







93% , 

MORE 

ENERGY 



* Nearly tu.uce the elec- 
tric ener^-. Thai’* to- 
day’s “Ever- 
eady” battery, as proved 
by the “Li^ht industrial 
Fiashliftht*' test devised 
by the American Stan- 
dard Assn. 



MEANS BRIGHTER EIGHT, 



LONGER LIFE 



• You’ve got a "pipe line to the power- 
house” when your flashlight contains 
these great new "Eveready” cells. For 
they give you nearly double the energy 
that pre-war "Eveready” batteries gave 
yOu. No wonder these are the largest- 
selling flashlight batteries in the world! 
No wonder it can be said, “Get 'Eveready’ 
brand flashlight batteries . . . and you get 
the best!” 



The registered trade-mark'‘Eveready'’distinguishes products of 

NATIONAL CARBON COMPANY, INC. 

3Q^^ast 42nd Street, New York 17, N. Y. 

Unit of Vuion Carbide and Carbon Corporation 



[5H3